HARSH repost
by wurdsmythe
Summary: Drakken is stuck in jail, and someone's trying to kill him. Who could it be? Where is Shego? And what do Kim and Ron have to do with it? Contains violence and some graphic content, woo-hoo!
1. Chapter 1

HARSH

_Okay, it's been soooo long! I've decided the only way I'm going to finish this puppy is to repost it chapter by chapter and push myself in a corner. See, a little backstory here: last year was one of the worst years of my life. Lost several family members. I think that's where HARSH and WHEN MADNESS COMES came from -- me picking on poor Drakken as a way of getting my own black emotions out. Hey, it worked. But now I realize I moved forward before finishing HARSH, and that's why it's been so hard to complete it -- I'm in a better mindset now. But still, I want to see this story finished. So once again, I'll work on it! In the meantime I'll repost the next chapter every day or so to let everybody remember what the heck is was about in the first place. Hope old and new readers enjoy!_

_This story takes place after the Diablo incident. Season Four doesn't exist here (except for a couple cheats here and there)._

Chapter 1: Spaghetti Sauce

Time: 2 weeks after the Li'l Diablo fiasco

Prison. Again. Barf-inducing "food," ugly orange prison uniforms, thin blankets, rotten neighbors, no privacy….

Hell on wheels on a downward slope.

Dr. Drakken sighed. Poor widdle OJ Simpson, he thought, hoping that the prison guards would give the ex-sports pro and bad actor the same level of vindictively intrusive body cavity search that he himself had had to endure. Ah, one could only hope...

Well, at least this time he wasn't sharing a cell with chatterbox Frugal Lucre—though the man had proven helpful during the Smarty Mart stockbot fiasco. So close! I always get soooo close! But no banana. Damn Kim Possible. Damn Roy…no, Rob…no…oh, whatever his name is!

Drakken snickered evilly. The blond-haired do-gooder had forced him to remember his name at the horrible end of the Lil Diablo plot, but Drakken had forgotten the boy's name again just as quickly. It wasn't that he couldn't remember it. He just didn't want to bother. It pissed the boy off so much, which was always a delight. And the bottom line was, Drakken really truly sincerely didn't care. Kim Possible was the real problem in his life, not her adoring sidekick buffoon.

Though the buffoon did seem to have a talent for wrecking his schemes by finding destruct buttons and ruining not only his plans, but often his lairs as well. Him and that creepy naked weasel thing that actually lived in his pocket.

No wonder the buffoon smelled like overripe fruit.

_But let us be truthful here,_ Drakken reminded himself. _The buffoon wouldn't be in the do-goody business at all if it weren't for the cheerleader._ The two were in love, smoochy smooch. It made Drakken want to vomit almost as much as the prison food. Yes, Rod What's-His-Name had his annoying talents, but he was only a heroic nusiance because of Kim I-Want-To-Strangle-Her-With-My-Bear-Hands-Until-She-Turns-As-Blue-As-I-Am Possible.

Oh well, nothing to do but pass the time seething with deep hatred. It was soothing, in an unexpectedly odd psychotic way. Besides, things would change. They always did. He always got out, and he always had another plan in the works. No matter what happened to him, Dr. Drakken was not one to give up. Ever. End of sentence. Period.

So he paced his cell, waiting for the clock to strike two, the time when he and his fellow cell block inmates could go out into the courtyard and see the sky. Right now, Drakken's world was grey. Grey floor, grey walls, grey ceiling, no window. He was in some hellhole in Colorado, but strangely, he was in a cell alone, which puzzled him. Usually the prisons were so full they had to stuff at least two men in a cell just to accommodate everybody. Yet here he was, alone "in the Honeymoon Suite without a groom," as he'd once heard it referred to. He didn't like the implication of that and visibly trembled, feeling for a moment as if spiders were crawling over his skin. He hoped with all his heart that when he did get a cellmate it wouldn't be some big dunce who sucked his pillow in his sleep and said things like, "Ah miss mah gun."

He flopped onto his bunk and pulled a book out from under his pillow. "Dave Barry Does Japan." A journal written by America's premiere humor columnist about his visit to Japan. Hilarious stuff, actually, though Drakken would have preferred a book on robotics or a National Geographic. Hell, he'd have tolerated an issue of Pre-Pube Heart-Throbs at this point—in his earlier researches on Kim Possible, he'd actually bought the magazine and found the articles hilarious. But he was forced to pick and choose from whatever ancient reading material the jail chose to make available. Laughing about bizarre Japanese social customs was better than "Old Yeller" or the novelization of "Star Trek 3: Search for Spock," both of which had actually been on the library cart this morning. When he'd seen the selection, he'd actually blurted out, "Good god!" in disgust.

"Hey, Lipsky!" came a gruff voice down the cell block. "Got a surprise for ya on the courtyard! See ya there!"

"Oh, shove it down your blowhole, Klein!" Drakken shouted back.

"You better be nice while you got the chance, blue boy!"

Drakken growled. He usually did pretty well in prison, as long as he kept his mouth shut and kept within easy running distance to the guards. But this place was giving him the creeps. He kept getting these weird threats, several from Klein, a general troublemaker, one from a rapist named Holy—Drakken didn't even want to ask what that nickname signified—though nothing yet had happened.

Worse, nobody told him anything. For instance, he'd asked about Shego several times, but prison officials refused to tell him where she had been taken. When the two villains had been captured by Possible and the buffoon after the Diablo blowup, the police had arrived and put them in a van together. But after a mile or two, that van had stopped and the two villains had been promply hauled out and shoved into two separate reinfored vehicles waiting by the side of a dark road. They'd hardly had time to yell goodbye to each other before the new cars had sped them off into opposite directions.

Too bad Shego's powers were impaired, Drakken thought. After Kim had thrown Shego into the tower, Shego's Go Team Glow had vanished—overloaded or something, he figured. Yes, her fingertips had started to glow in the van, a sure sign that the power was slowly returning. It just hadn't returned fast enough to do them any good when they'd had such an easy chance to escape.

Drakken found himself thinking of Shego's hair. Her lovely hair, how it cascaded down her back like a beautiful black waterfall, how it hugged her shoulders like a silken shawl, how it shone with those haunting green highlights that turned her into a mysterious other-worldly goddess. And how it had, thanks to Kim Possible and one large electrical tower, ended up looking like the abandoned nest of a psychotic marmoset.

That had been two weeks ago. Drakken presumed that Shego had either fixed the damaged hair by now—unlikely—or had it trimmed off—more probable, especially in a women's prison where insults to her hair would make Shego light up like a green nuclear power plant, hand restraints or no hand restraints. _Shego with short hair,_ he thought, and shuddered. _Life can be so unfair._

The prison bell rang and the door to Drakken's cell, along with all the others on his block, slid open with clangs so loud it made Drakken deaf for a moment. Guards appeared and herded the thirty or so inmates out into the courtyard for their daily two hours of sunlight and exercise.

Drakken stepped out onto the courtyard and sighed with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance. It was wonderful to feel the sun, but he hated prison courtyards. They were all the same. Worse than any school playground, inmates would clump together into cliques that invariably hated each other—all except for him, of course. When it came to cliques, Drew Theordore P. Lipsky was always the outsider, shunned and hated by not one particular clique or another, but by everybody. He was now and ever had been his own lonely clique. He'd never understood why. It wasn't his blue skin—peers had ragged him long before the whack experiment that had tinted his skin the color of an Easter egg. And despite Shego spreading nasty rumors to the contrary, he was quite hygienic and did not have bad breath. Freaky pheremones? Bad aura? Repulsive psycic vibes? He had no idea, and it bothered him. Always had. Probably always would.

Still, when it came to being in prison, he didn't mind so much. He was glad he wasn't associated with any particular group. Fights often broke out among them, or if they didn't, dangerous injuries were mutually exchanged in the ever-mysterious—at least, to Drakken—need for men to prove their manhood by cruelly taking injury with no outward sign of the pain it caused. They would merrily give each other cigarette burns to see who would flinch first, or even break fingers to see who wouldn't scream.

_Macho schmacho,_ Drakken thought. _Pffft. At least I don't have to deal with that nonsense. _Of course, he had a few prison tats—those were unavoidable. And he rather liked the one on his left bicep, a green bolt of lightning with a blue outline. That kind of pain, well—he'd hurt himself worse by awkwardly running into doorways in his own lair.

But all in all, Drakken had no interest in proving to anyone his abilities to withstand pain. He'd lived with Shego, hadn't he? And he had the scars to prove it. Her green plasma blasts would send half these macho jokers running for their lives, while he always stood up to her when she was angry. Well, he stood up to her most of the time. Okay, sometimes. Once in a while? He frowned. Okay okay, he usually ran away. But those damned plasma blasts hurt! He consoled himself by thinking that, had he the tools at hand, he could build a simple stun device right here that would drop any of these goons to the ground, writhing in agony, until he chose to release them from torment.

That made him smile.

He was lost in that thought, still smiling that smile, when Klein approached, flanked by his thugs-of-the-day. Klein wasn't a particularly big man, but he has muscles and knew how to use them. "Lipsky," he said as if the name was some kind of curse word.

Drakken snapped out of his reverie. Crap. He glanced around, furious with himself for not having immediately placed himself near a guard like he usually did in the courtyard. If Klein really did have something in mind, he could be in trouble.

"I told you I had a surprise for you, Lipsky."

Drakken tried to play it cool. He wasn't so good at that and he knew it, but a man couldn't be a coward around here and live. So he drawled with as much sarcasm as he could muster, "The fact that someone with a negative IQ can exist is a surprise, all right, Klein—yet here you stand."

Klein frowned. "You'll be sorry you said that."

"I'm sorry already. I'd prefer not to talk to you at all."

Now Klein smiled. "Okay, smurf. Have your fun. But don't try to count to thirty. You won't make it." And he walked away, leaving the courtyard with his goons, probably off to work the weights to keep his goony muscles rippling just right.

Drakken's monobrow furrowed as he considered Klein's words. Count to thirty? Oh dear, what did that mean? He glanced around. Something was going to happen, but what?

Twenty-five seconds.

Drakken tensed. Nobody was near him. What was Klein up to? Drakken's first impulse was to head for the guard across the courtyard, but that would force him to pass a lot of inmates. One or more of them might be in league with Klein, and they might hit him or something. And some of them had extremely big fists. He didn't want to upchuck his lunch to a gut punch in front of everybody.

Twenty.

Nah, that couldn't be it. Klein wasn't stupid, but he was no grand mastermind either. If he didn't deliver a punch himself, what did he have to offer somebody else to do it for him?

Fifteen.

But what else could it be? Klein was gone, so he had to have a plan in place. He'd practically said as much. Drakken scanned the inmates in the courtyard, trying to remain calm.

Ten.

Some of the men were playing basketball. Most stood in groups, talking somberly. Nothing seemed amiss. The sun shone, the tenor of the courtyard was quiet. Normal. As far as Drakken could tell, anyway.

Five.

Drakken decided to go for the guard—and then it hit him. The only guard in sight _was_ the one across the courtyard. _There should be more, _he thought. _A lot more. Crap, I'm in trouble._

Still, he couldn't figure out what the trouble could be.

Four.

He didn't know what to do.

Three.

He wished Shego was there to protect him.

Two.

His heart began to race.

One.

A few men in random areas suddenly leaped on the inmate nearest them and began to pummel them. In seconds a full-scale riot was in progress. And like the Big Bang itself, the perimiter of the chaos expanded until Drakken was sucked in, with nowhere to go to avoid it.

Men jostled around him as the sirens began to shriek. Drakken ducked and dodged, just trying to get out of the melee in one piece. Fists swung, curses were hurled, everyone was completely out of control, and Drakken could figure out no reason for it. It was like the whole courtyard had suddenly gone mad. This simply shouldn't have happened. There was no inciting incident, no argument to start it all. And where were the goddamn guards?

_Okay, so maybe Klein IS a mastermind, _Drakken thought as he saw a fist swing at him and ducked. He didn't duck low enough though, and his head took a jolt as the fist skimmed across the top of his skull. Drakken staggered back but kept his footing, blinking at the sudden spots before his eyes.

Guards finally showed up and started beating men back with batons. When Drakken saw several with stun guns, he crouched down and wriggled backwards between fighting bodies, his arms protecting his head. Stun guns were worse than most people believed them to be. He'd suffered a zap or two himself, and they were agony. He had no desire to repeat the experience, so he tried to put as much distance between himself and the stun-gun-weilding guards as possible.

"Prisoners are to cease hostilities and line up against the main wall!" barked a voice of authority over the prison loudspeaker. "This is your first and only warning!"

Drakken was eager to get to that main wall and show that he had nothing to do with this insanity, but a biker called Dillon took a bull-fisted swing at him. He performed a surprisingly graceful twirl that took him out of the way of the fist but right into the beer belly of an enormous cretin named Earl who looked down at him with amused hatred. _Eeeek!_ Drakken thought, and he squirmed away from Earl only to bump up against someone else, who purposefully shoved him into yet another man.

Drakken didn't know this man, but this man seemed to know him. "Surprise, blue balls," the man hissed. "This is from Klein"

All Drakken saw were the man's eyes—they sparkled with a black evil that made even Drakken creep out. And then he saw the fellow's right arm shoot forward, and there was pain, incredible deep pain, a sensation of ripping impact followed by a vicious twist of flesh. Drakken gasped, too surprised and confused to realize what had happened. His knees went weak and his vision went hazy.

The stranger chuckled and disappeared into the riot. Guards were shouting, inmates were howling, others screamed in righteous anger at their captors, and Drakken stared down in horror to see a knife sticking out of his gut. Not a make-shift shiv, but a shiny kitchen knife, the kind he liked to use to cut tomatoes when he made homemade spaghetti sauce for dinner with Shego at the lair.

_Shit,_ was all he could think. He put his hands on the handle of the utensil, wondering why he was doing it. He certainly shouldn't pull the thing out—that might make him bleed to death. But he needed to touch it, to make sure that it was real and that it was now a part of him. An unwelcome part. He was no longer intact. His very being had been damaged. Something had invaded the flesh that was Dr. Drakken, and now his very life was leaking out.

_Spaghetti sauce,_ he thought stupidly.

Amidst whistle blowing and shouting and screaming and the sound of fists against flesh, the mob dispersed around Drakken as he stood, stooped over, gawking helplessly down at the bright red blood quickly covering his corpse-blue hands and dripping to the pavement.

A guard ran to him and made it just in time—Drakken's knees gave out and the guard caught him as he fell, lowering him slowly to the concrete. "Medic!" the guard yelled.

Drakken's last thought was that he was lying in bed, home from school, telling his mother, "Mommy, I have a tummy ache." But a tummy ache had never made him scream before.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Coverup

Time: 3 days after the stabbing

_I forgot to say that I don't own Kim Possible or any character in it. Doy._

He might have died, but for once, Lady Luck was on Drakken's side. The knife blade missed vital organs and only tore flesh. Painful? Oh yes. Terribly so. Lethal? No.

So he spent several days in the prison hospital, which was as cheery a place as a medieval madhouse. He was questioned by prison authorities several times and interrogated twice by independent lawyers. On every occasion he told the truth as he knew it: Klein had threatened him. Klein had somehow staged the courtyard riot so that he could make good on that threat and kill him. Why had Klein done this? How had Klein done this? Drakken had no idea.

"A man does not knife another man for no reason, Mr. Lipsky," most of the interrogators stated at some point. "You must have done something, said something—"

"I did nothing to that maggot. The man's a cretin," Drakken would reply. "Maybe he doesn't like blue skin. He wouldn't be the first."

So it ended there—just another prison riot with resulting injuries. Drakken raved and ranted and yelled until his injured abdomen cramped in pain and his vocal chords went hoarse, but after the "facts" were collected, the case was closed.

It wasn't closed for Drakken. In fact, the final report made him livid. According to authorities, every guard questioned swore they'd been at their posts on the courtyard when the riot broke out. All interviewed prisoners said the same, and surveillance camera evidence backed it up. As for Klein, all involved claimed that he hadn't ever stepped out on the courtyard but had been working out in the prison gym the entire time. Most disturbing of all was that the prison hospital doctor claimed that Drakken had been stabbed with a simple shiv, a rather badly-made one at that, and not a nice sharp kitchen knife worthy of cutting tomatoes for homemade spaghetti sauce. The real knife had disappeared. The shiv deemed responsible was pathetically made.

Drakken was no prison virgin. He knew how crooked and insidious the jail system could be, how people could be bought, how plans could be implemented from the inside, from the outside, or from both sides at the same time. He knew how big money could change hands in the jail system faster than at your average bank. He'd manipulated the system countless times himself. He knew how easy it could be, if you knew how to do it.

The question was, why him? Who would want him dead? _Yes, I'm Doctor Drakken,_ he thought to himself, feeling rather proud of that fact as he lay in the hospital bed. _Yes, I'm a world-famous supervillain, a bone fide scientific genius, and I've come close to taking over the world on several occasions. But who would want to kill me?_ More intriguing was the question of who would pay enough money to arrange such a complex hit and then botch it up. After all, he was still alive.

Drakken was extremely happy about that, but he was also confused. Clearly Klein had been a stooge obeying orders, but whose orders? Monkey Fist? Fist was a simian nutbar, but he wasn't a murderer. Duff Killigan? Talk about a hole-in-one loon, but he had no beef with Drakken. Señior Senior Senior? No way. That man was so polite that if he did plan to murder someone, he'd send an invitation first. He would happily let loose a platoon of Spinning Tops of Doom in Times Square on New Years Eve, but he would warn everyone ahead of time to give them a sporting chance to run away.

What about DNAmy? Drakken shuddered. If she'd wanted to hurt him, she would have sent him a teddy bear—twenty feet tall, alive, and with fangs. But she was too cutesy to kill. Create monsters so cuddly they might make innocent people vomit to death at the very sight of them? Maybe. Engineer household decorations so disgustingly quaint that visitors might drop dead one step through her front door? Possibly. He'd seen her house himself, after all. Smother someone to death in her enormous cleavage? Well, that might prove an accidental death, but it would do the trick. In the end, though, Drakken took her off his list. DNAmy was enough to make him gag, but she wasn't the killing type.

Okay, so who else? Frugal Lucre? Puh-lease. Camille Leon? No fashion connection. The Mathter? Didn't add up. Professor Dementor…?

Drakken pondered that. Dementor hated him, all right. They'd had a rivalry for years. They despised each other. Drakken dreamed of the day he could yank that ugly tin can off Dementor's head and really see if the little Munchkin had any hair or not. As for Dementor, he openly envied Drakken for having the beautiful Shego as his sidekick. But murder? _Nah,_ Drakken thought. Dementor's idea of scary was giant killer dachshunds or mutant schnitzels, not straight-to-the-point knifings. Besides, Dementor couldn't do anything without yelling at the top of his lungs while doing it.

So who was left?

That's what bothered Drakken. And it bothered him a lot. _Maybe there's a new player out there,_ he thought nervously. _Maybe that new player has realized that I'm the biggest threat to their plans. Maybe this won't be the first time I'm attacked. Maybe they really intend to kill me!!_

After scaring himself silly over that thought, Drakken dismissed it. Again, who would have the power to arrange his knifing, get half the inmates in the jail into the act, then bribe the guards and create false footage, only to botch it up? _Because I'm not dead,_ he thought for the fortieth time. _Whoever is behind this has my kind of luck,_ he decided sullenly.

It would all be different if Shego would just come get him. Where on earth was she?

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_My thanks to everybody who reviewed and said they were glad I'm back. I'm glad, too! It really does feel like I've walked through the Valley of Darkness, as they say, and it sounds like several of you have, too. So to celebrate all of our out-of-darkness...ness, I'm also writing a Drakken/Shego comedy. Yes, a totally silly thing that jumped into my head recently. It's very goofy and will show up after HARSH is completed. Till then...!_

Chapter 3: Interview with a Haywire

Time: 3 days after the stabbing

Global Justice Agent-Intern Kimberly Ann Possible pulled at the tight-fitting neck of her uniform. How Will Du had tolerated the thing all those years without complaint amazed her and had ever since she'd signed up with the prestigious organization on a trial basis just days earlier. She joined Global Justice Agent-Intern Ronald Stoppable outside the door of Doctor Director's office.

"Ready, KP?" Ron asked, sounding forever like the happy-go-lucky boy who'd been her best friend since pre-K.

"Yeah," she answered him.

Ron studied her. "No, you're not."

She smiled. "You know, Ron, you've changed since we signed up with GJ. You're so much more…to the point."

Ron wanted to tell her it was because he wasn't her "backup" anymore. He wanted to tell her it was because he was now considered her equal. He wanted to tell her it was because he was growing up. But, true to his Ronness (and completely contradicting Kim's claim of his newfound to-the-pointness), all he said was, "Yeah, well, y'know."

Rufus stuck his head out of Ron's GJ pants pocket and echoed, "Y'know!"

Kim reached for the office doorknob. "I love you, Ron," she said.

"Back at ya, KP," Ron answered, and they entered the office.

The head of Global Justice, Doctor Elizabeth Director, gestured them inside. "Good morning, Intern Possible, Intern Stoppable. You're not going to believe this one."

The two interns stood before her impressive oak desk. "What is it, Dr. Director?" Kim asked.

"Drakken."

Kim's heart sank. _Oh, what now?_ she thought. _We just put him away two weeks ago!_

"No, he did not break out of jail," Dr. Director said quickly. "Quite the opposite. Someone in jail tried to kill him. A very elaborate plan, I might add. He survived, but I'd like you two to talk to him. I'm not so much concerned for Mr. Lipsky's safety as I am about who's behind this. The individual apparently has influence in the legal system, and if it's being used to stage killings, Global Justice needs to stop him or her. You know Drakken best, so you get the job."

Kim and Ron both nodded, exactly in unison. Kim watched as Dr. Director tried to stifle a smile. When Kim and Ron had announced their engagement last week, nobody was terribly surprised, even though both were both so young. Kim and Ron were in love, and since the junior prom they knew it as a fact. The tabloids had had a field day, and both the Possible and Stoppable families were overjoyed.

Of course, Kim and Ron weren't planning on actually get married until after college, and that seemed light years away considering they didn't even know where they were going to college yet! But their love was so strong that when Ron had proposed to Kim the day after the prom, she'd said yes without a pause. It was meant to be. As long as they were together, as long as they were a team, any ceremony could wait.

The fact that they'd then decided to join Global Justice as an official team had surprised the world, however. Kim liked being a free agent and had turned down offers from Dr. Director before. But now with her high school Senior year coming up, she thought maybe an internship with GJ would look good on her college applications. No big commitment to the future, just an internship for the present. Ron had agreed—he needed all the help he could just to get into college—so here they were.

Normally Dr. Director would never allow such a thing as an engaged team working together, especially at intern status. A relationship like that in the field was a textbook disaster waiting to happen. No agent could work his or her best while worrying about a loved one at their side. But Kim and Ron were different. They always managed to cover each other's backs and still focus on the job first. Kim knew that Dr. Director had once assigned several GJ scientists to study this unusual phenomenon, just as she had studied the so-called Ron Factor and Rufus Factor. And, like then, the scientists couldn't explain it. It was just…Kim and Ron.

In fact, Dr. Director still felt rather embarrassed that Kim and Ron had to be called "Intern-Agents." If any two young people did not need training, they were the ones. But she was ecstatic to have them in her organization no matter at what level. She handed Kim a file. "I'd like you to talk to Drakken right away."

Kim flipped to the first page in the file. "He was attacked three days ago? Why didn't we hear anything in the news?"

"Because it was never reported. That's what I'm talking about," said Dr. Director grimly. "Whoever is behind this managed to keep the news from leaving the prison grounds this long. Not a whisper got out, not even a rumor. We need to get to the bottom of this fast."

--

As much as Kim and Ron were with Global Justice now, and as much as they'd spent their time with criminals, it still greatly disturbed them both to visit a prison. To see human beings caged up like animals—even if it was deserved punishment—was against everything Kim stood for. As for Ron, he simply did not understand why some people chose to be bad. The world was a wonderful place. Why be angry and violent and wreck it up?

He took Kim's hand in hers for a quick squeeze before they were escorted through the last section of the third floor cells and into the prison infirmary.

Drew Theodore P. Lipsky, aka Dr. Drakken, prisoner 1537AHT49-3, was laying in a bed by a barred and mesh-covered window. He seemed to be asleep, his lose black hair reflecting a weird blue glow in the faint light of the setting sun beyond the bars. The prison had trimmed his hair but not too much. It was still rather long for prison standards, though he couldn't make a ponytail of it quite yet. It was weird to see him without one, but it would grow out fast. Kim had seen him cropped in jail before. The man's hair grew as fast as weeds. She wondered if his beard did, too. She'd never so much as seen one hair on that blue chin. Didn't add up, but then, neither did Drakken in general.

Before either GJ intern could say a word, Drakken greeted them, eyes closed. "Well well, if it isn't the cheerleader and the buffoon. I heard you signed with Global Justice. Well, look carefully at what such justice has wrought." He opened one eye and glared at Kim. "I don't understand your devotion to the legal system, Kimberly Anne. I thought I was put in here to serve time, not forcibly donate blood to the pavement."

Kim didn't let herself cringe at the comment. Part of her agreed with Drakken. Then again, if he didn't want to play with the big bad boys, he shouldn't have chosen to be a supervillain.

"And you, Ronald," Drakken continued, opening his other eye and looking Ron up and down as if Ron were a male model presenting the new Fall line. "The uniform suits you. Hard to call you buffoon when you actually appear competent. Hope the pants came with a good belt."

Before Ron could make a comeback, Kim said, "Drakken, we're here to ask about—"

"The attack, possible motives, blah blah blah," Drakken said. He tried to sit up, winced, and decided to stay horizontal. "Look, I've already told the prison officials, the local police force, the Sheriff's office, and a very ugly little FBI agent everything I know. There isn't more I can say. I don't know why Klein did it. I just know that he did."

Kim and Ron had already been briefed about Klein, a Texan gentleman in for robbery, kidnapping, and grand theft auto. But he wasn't a killer, as far as anyone knew. "Drakken, if you want an answer to this, you have to tell us more."

Drakken sighed. "I don't know more!" He paused. "Then again…"

Kim sighed. What game was he going to try to play now? He wasn't very good at mind games. He usually tripped himself up. "Then again what?"

"Tell me where Shego is, and maybe I'll remember something."

Ron shook his head, amused. "Dr. D, we're here to help you, not the other way around. You don't wanna talk? Fine. You're the one who'll suffer."

Now Drakken lifted his head, not without a wince, and gave them both a sincere look. "Okay, fine. I don't know anything. Swear to god. But nobody here will tell me anything about Shego. I know you know. At least tell me she's alive, she's okay, something! C'mon, it's been more than two weeks!"

Kim made him wait for it. "She's okay."

"Where?"

"Can't tell you that."

"Nyyyarggh!" Drakken fell back onto his pillows. "I really hate you two, you know that? If not for you and that damned naked rodent thing, I'd be ruling the world right now, not holding my guts in because somebody gave a chopping knife to a psychopath." Indeed, he was gently holding his lower abdomen as if his little hands alone were keeping his innards from leaking out instead of the neat white bandages.

Kim nodded. "Still insist it was a knife not a shiv?"

"I saw it!" Drakken snapped. "I touched the handle. It was carved wood. It had a shiny silver blade. That thing was Iron Chef material, not some clumsy poker made by an inmate. I know the difference." He frowned. "I felt the difference."

Ron leaned down over Drakken. "So who would want to kill you?"

"Gee, lemme see," Drakken replied, pretending to think. "Oh, anybody on the _planet_. I'm a supervillain! I almost took over the world! My Diablos caused damage and havoc all over the place! There just might be some young do-gooder vigilante out there…" He gave Kim a hard meaningful look. "…who's decided to take the law into their own hands and rid the world of the blue genius."

Kim stifled a smile. To the end, Drakken would think of himself as a genius. "Well, we can't help you if you don't have any information," she told him. "And despite your attitude, you know GJ wants to help." _What we really want is to track down the maniac behind this, _she thought, but she would never tell him that. Then again, he probably already knew. He wasn't entirely stupid. Mostly.

"For the last time," Drakken repeated tiredly, "I don't know. Read the reports. I've already said everything I can think of to say." In an uncharacteristically sincere tone he added, "Believe me, if I knew who was behind this, I'd tell you. Getting stabbed hurts, in case the thought's never occurred to you." Suddenly he frowned. "Now go away. Leave me alone. I was busy watching the sunset through my eyelids." And with that bizarre statement, he closed his eyes again, facing the window. It really did look like he was doing just what he said he was.

Kim shook her head and nodded to Ron as if to say, "No help here."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: So Where's Shego?

Backtrack in Time: 2 weeks after the Li'l Diablo fiasco, the day Drakken was stabbed

Shego paced her little "hidey-hole" apartment in Florida, trying not to chew her nails. Normally she would never consider the possibility of the thought of the concept of the mere IDEA of chewing her nails. Her nails were her pride and joy. Her nails were her lovely lethal weapons. Her nails were...well, her number one preoccupation!

But she was so close to gnawing on them that it surprised her. And she was disgusted with herself by the reason. This had never happened to her before. It was so unlike her that she wondered if she was ill or something. But the fact was, she was anxious, bone fide anxious. Why? That was what disturbed her.

She was worried about Dr. D.

She had easily escaped prison within days of the Diablo mess. She'd gone looking for him, as she always did, ready to break him out of whatever dunghole he'd ended up in. After all, Hell had frozen over -- Dr. D had actually come up with a decent plan, and that plan had almost worked! _The Diablos were genius!_ she thought, remembering that incredible yet all-too-brief taste of victory. _I mean, we almost did it! We really almost took over the entire freakin'' world!_ She laughed out loud at that. Who'd have thunk the dolt would ever come so close? For the first time since she'd been hired by him, Shego was eager to spring her employer and see what new whacko scheme he had up his sleeve. She couldn't deny that he _did_ indeed have a brain, and he could use it—maybe not often, but this last caper was enough to reinvigorate Shego's interest in working for him.

But now he was gone, poof, erased from the surface of the earth. Normally Shego could track him down using her underworld contacts. Normally she could find out what prison he was in, how many guards it had, their routines, their defenses, everything. And then she'd move in like a green bolt of lightening and free him, leaving a glorious trail of destruction behind her.

This time? Nothing. Jack Hench hadn't heard a word. Even slimy Big Daddy Brotherson knew nothing. And Brotherson would have told her the tiniest tidbit of information if he'd known one—Shego was offering half a million dollars for anything on Drakken's whereabouts. Brotherson lived for money. He truly didn't know squat.

She almost bit her nails again, then stopped herself. Why was she offering half a million for info on Drakken, anyway? That worried her, too. Why was she suddenly offering money to find her employer when she usually tried like heck to get away from him? _Well, for one thing, he's going to pay me back when I find him,_ she thought. No way would she dole that much out of her own funds. NO. WAY. _And it's my job to find him,_ she told herself repeatedly. _He's my boss. And he'll be so glad to be freed, as usual, that he'll give me a big fat bonus!_ Yes, that was it. Drakken was her job, her income, and with him gone, that considerable income was on the line. She had to find him!

Yet...

There was something more about the situation. It was like a spark in the air—something was wrong. She had a weird feeling, a bad feeling that somehow he was in trouble. Of course, she had no facts upon which to base her worry. But worry she did. _Dr. D doesn't just disappear,_ she thought, pacing and thinking hard. _I always know where he is. I always hear about him. When he's caught, he's in the news. The Diablo destruction is still making headlines. So why isn't he?_

Yes indeed. Why wasn't Drakken, perpetrator of the Diablo plot, making headlines?

She stopped pacing. There was only one thing to do at this point. Wait. Wait and listen on all channels—and not TV channels, either. Shego's "channels" were the criminal networks, her contacts, and her instincts. _I'll find him,_ she decided. _I've left him in prison before, after all, so it's not like he's going to be surprised that I haven't shown up yet. _And her weird worry? _It's nothing. Just...just me coming to grips with the fact that Dr. D actually frightened the world. He really proved himself a menace. My stupid boss may really rule the world someday!_ She almost felt a moment of pride for him, then she caught herself. _Drakken actually succeed all the way, despite teenage cheerleader and pants-losing buffoon with naked rodent? Yeah, right—the day hippos fly._

She decided at that moment that she would look for some work. Sure, she had savings, and plenty of it. But if she intended to spend time finding Drakken, she refused to use her own money to finance the operation. She would need money to bribe people for info, to bribe people just to get to other people, to travel, to pay for food and lodgings, to pay for equipment, maybe even weapons. Hey, why not put all her expenses during this hunt on Drakken's tab? She had hidey-holes all over the country and abroad. It took money to keep them stocked and ready for use at a moment's notice. And she might need any one of them at any time. She would save a lot of dough if she included those costs on Dr. D's bill, too. Once he was out of jail, he would have no recourse but to pay up or she'd just put him right back in jail!

Shego chuckled at such an evil idea. _The minute he sees my bill, he'll throw a fit!_ she thought. Oh, Shego enjoyed nothing better than to be the cause of a full-out glass-shattering foot-stomping Drakken rant. She thought he was hilarious when he lost his temper, especially when he got so mad that he'd lose the ability to form words and would just make howly grunty noises, waving his arms around like a broken windmill stuck on high speed.

Then her humor abruptly faded. If her persistent worrying really meant something...if Drakken really was somehow in trouble...then she might be in trouble, too. She had her own rear to look after. She was on the top of the Most Wanted List! She could dare to work for a top supervillain for awhile, just for the bucks, but it would be risky.

She came to a humiliating conclusion—she would have to settle for small jobs, at least for now. She had to keep herself out of the spotlight till she knew more. _Great,_ she thought grumpily. _Gotta lay low. So it's small jobs. Bank robberies, jewelry heists, stealing stupid technological thingamajigs._ She snarled. _Dr. D, this had sooo better be worth it._

She had no idea how "worth it" it would become...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: If At First You Don't Succeed...

Time: a month or so later

Drakken paced his cell. It had been long enough since the botched knifing attack that he was pretty well healed, though his abdomen still twinged a bit and his nerves were perpetually on edge.

His nerves were on edge for several reasons. Yes, he'd been attacked. That was bad enough. But now he felt that there was no stability in his life anymore. He had been knifed while in the Colorado prison system. Since then he'd been bounced around from state to state, from prison facility to prison facility, like a tennis ball crisscrossing a court. He never spent more than two weeks in any one jail. He didn't mind the travel so much—prisons were dull, and travel made for a little diversion despite the tiresome security routines. But why was this happening? Why was he being treated like this? No one in authority would speak to him about it.

He knew there could be only one answer: someone had a major hit out on him, and the prison systems were trying to keep one step ahead of it. That thought was enough to make him whimper in his sleep, which he did now, often. Someone out there wanted him dead, and this someone had power enough to push the entire prison system into action. Global Justice was no help so far. What made it all the worse was the fact that, though Possible and Stoppable had apparently been on the case this whole time, they'd turned up nothing. When Kim Possible couldn't figure something out, that was bad. Even Drakken had to admit it.

So he was petrified.

At present he was in a prison in Washington state, again alone in his own cell. He wasn't allowed out in the yards with the other prisoners, which was fine with him. He was taken to the yards for two hours of outdoor time on his own, with two guards always watching. He ate meals in his cell. To compensate for the fact that he was forced to stay in his cell more than the usual inmate, he was given some simple exercise equipment to use there. That and reading material kept him reasonably occupied.

Now it was his nerves that were causing him distress. He simply could not relax. This distressed him more because he wasn't really the nervous type. Yes, he scared easily and had an embarrassing habit of screaming like a girl when he was in danger, but such screaming had never stopped him from jumping into dangerous situations on purpose—making explosive nanoticks, running around on top of moving trains, swapping his brain into another body, sucking boiling lava up from the center of the earth, etc. He'd experienced more danger in his life than most men, and he'd survived it all pretty well. Screaming like a girl all the while—so what? He'd survived, right? So he wasn't a sissy. Oh sure, he ran away when it was prudent to do so, but more than once he'd stood his ground against Kim Possible, like he'd done when he had successfully impersonated an online Wade and made Possible run around doing his evil deeds for him, or the time he'd almost made Possible disappear from embarrassment with his Amazonian Orchid potion—not to mention his fabulous Diablo plot that he considered beyond genius. Did it matter that he'd lost all those times? Well...yes...but he'd still been the one calling the shots and that's what mattered.

To top off all his worries, there was the mystery of Shego. Where the doggone was she? Drakken was furious that she hadn't rescued him yet. Then again, with all his shuffling around, maybe she couldn't find him.

_Bah! _he decided. If Shego wanted to find him, she could find him. She was the most resourceful human being he'd even known. If she was making some sick bid for a pay raise, letting him suffer like this to point out how necessary she was to him, well, she wasn't going to get it this time! And if she was...he could barely think the thought...if she was working for another supervillain now, if she had actually abandoned him to his fate, he would never forgive her. That's really what unnerved him the most. He'd been attacked, and she hadn't come to save him. He needed her now more than ever, and she wasn't saving him. Why not? _God dammit, that's what I pay her for!_ he shouted in his mind. But then he thought, _What if she's in danger, too? What if she's been attacked, too, and nobody's told me?_

That thought made him downright nauseous.

So there it was. No matter what Dr. Drakken thought about, he ended up feeling horrible.

"Hey, Lipsky, time for your check-up."

Drakken was torn from his ugly reverie by the voice of Jammis, a prison guard who wasn't such a bad guy. He was tough but fair. He never took advantage of Drakken or abused his power over the blue man. "What check-up?" Drakken asked him as the guard approached his cell. "I don't have one scheduled."

Jammis shrugged. "I think you're about to be leaving our fine establishment soon, so the doc wants to make sure you're up for it. You don't look so good, if I may say."

Drakken ran a hand over his face. He knew his blue skin was quite pale these days. "Yeah, I've been better," he admitted.

Jammis keyed open the lock and readied to open Drakken's cell door. "Come on." He swung the door open.

Drakken shrugged and shambled out, automatically putting his hands behind his back. "Hey," he said as Jammis motioned for him to walk. "Aren't you going to cuff me?"

Jammis shook his head. "You ain't going anywhere we don't want you to go, Blue. Now come on." He pointed down the corridor.

Drakken sighed and started walking, ignoring the hoots and catcalls of the men in their cells as he walked by. These guys were bad and they didn't particularly like him, but one or two had called compliments over to him the day he'd arrived, congratulating him on finally almost taking over the world. They were genuinely impressed with him. It was a lot better than listening to Klein and Holy and their frightening threats all day.

He reached the end of the corridor, and Jammis stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. The guard then unlocked that door and maneuvered Drakken through, locking it again behind them both. As he did, Drakken's eyes lingered for a moment on the guard's baton and stun gun. So close! And yet so far. He just frowned and shook his head. Jammis was a decent man. And Drakken knew he'd never get out of the prison with just a baton and stun gun anyway. So he followed Jammis' pointed finger and started down another hallway.

"Where is everybody?" Drakken said, commenting on the empty cells on either side. It was weird to see a whole cell block empty. Drakken had been expecting more catcalls and insulting hand gestures.

"Out in the yard," Jammis drawled.

Drakken pulled himself out of his thoughts. "What?"

"These guys," Jammis said, indicating the empty cells. "Out in the yard."

Drakken looked at the wall clock. "Oh. Right."

"This way, Blue," Jammis said, and pointed down another bleak concrete corridor.

Drakken winced. He'd had just about enough of being called "Blue." He had a name, and even if he didn't like "Drew Lipsky," he liked it better than "Blue." He was about to say so when Jammis suddenly grabbed his arm and, with the strength of a hyped-up gorilla, propelled him through an open door on the left. Drakken stumbled through at such a velocity that he totally lost his footing and landed in a heap.

Jammis slammed the door shut. "Sorry, Blue. Gotta be done."

Drakken froze at the sudden chill in Jammis' normally mellow tone. He felt his skin shrink closer to his frame as if his body was physically trying to hide inside itself. "Wh-wh-what?"

Two other guards—Drakken numbly recalled that one was Fernando Rico, but he didn't recognize the other one—stepped out of a dark corner. "Gotta be done," Forgot-his-name said, clearly excited about what was to come.

"Wh-what's gotta be done?" Drakken asked. He scrambled to his feet. "Look, fellas, wait—hey, wait a minute—!"

A fist shot out, getting Drakken in the gut right where his stitches had been. He gurgled and doubled over. "Look what, Blue?" Rico sneered.

"We do what we're told," Forgot-his-name said flatly.

Before Drakken knew it, the men were on him en masse. No knives or shivs this time. Just fists. And when he fell, the impact of shoes hit his stomach, back, legs, arms, head. Then the attackers hauled him to his feet and did it all again, two of them holding his arms so the other one could go at it without Drakken falling again. _Ahh, so that's why Jammis didn't put me in cuffs,_ Drakken thought through the haze of blows.

He didn't scream like a girl. He had no breath to. From the first punch to the moment when the world went black, he felt like he was suffocating.

_TBC  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Cocomoooooo!

Time: 3 days after the second attack

"It happened again."

Kim Possible pursed her lips, trying to keep her emotions in control. She was no fan of Dr. Drakken, but the news of this second attack made her heart ache. What was going on? Who the heck was behind this brutality? Drakken was a loon, a dangerous maniac, but even he didn't deserve this.

"It was one hell of a beating," Dr. Director went on, flicking her eyes from Kim to Ron as they stood before her desk. "It's amazing that Lipsky survived. Then again, he's always managed to avoid injury in situations where most people would barely crawl away alive."

Kim nodded somberly, recalling instances where Drakken had been blown up by his own inventions, electrocuted, half-drowned in melted cheese (pure one hundred percent Wisconsin Swiss!), smashed into brick walls at high speed—not to mention that Shego blasted him whenever she felt like it. He seemed to attract violence, yet violence rarely left a mark on him—except for the scar under his left eye, the history of which she still didn't know.

"Perhaps it has something to do with the experiment that gave him his blue skin," Dr. Director was saying, "or perhaps he's simply tougher than we give him credit for. Either way," and she handed Kim his file, "he's alive and in better shape than he deserves to be, considering."

"Uh, Dr. Director," Ron said slowly. "It's been a month since, well, the first time. Kim and I have done all the snooping around we can think of. I know this is a dumb question but—who could be behind something like this? What I mean is, who would care this much about Drakken?"

"You mean, why Lipsky and not some other villain?" Dr. Director asked. "This has got to be a personal grudge, Intern Stoppable, and I'm as baffled as you. But as before, someone managed to keep the news of this beating from leaving the prison grounds until today. That's a three day lapse, just like last time. This case has become our top priority. Do you understand, Intern Stoppable?"

Ron nodded. "Well, yeah. I mean, yes."

"Yeah!" came a little rodent voice from Ron's pocket.

"Then get to it. Oh, one thing. Lipsky may not be conscious when you're there. If not, have them wake him up. Make him talk this time. We have to get some answers, and he's the only one who has them. Otherwise, we're going to continue feeling around in the dark."

--

Kim and Ron used an Intern-issue Global Justice jet to reach the prison in Washington state. Once there, they were escorted into the prison, through a maze of locked metal doors, through a scanner and eventually to the prison hospital ward. The guard who had led them this far then turned them over to a prison physician who escorted them to Drakken's room.

Kim didn't want to be there. She really didn't want to see Drakken. She was afraid of what he might look like. But when she dutifully entered the sick room and forced her eyes to fix on the figure in the bed, she squeezed Ron's hand in relief.

Drakken could have looked a whole lot worse. He wore a cannula—small tubes that conveyed oxygen to the nose, not a full mouth oxygen mask—and he was nearly covered in bandages, including rolled gauze around his head to hold a large bandage to his forehead. But he was awake. What Kim could see of his blue skin was more of a sickly grey. Kim was startled when he actually smiled at her. It was a weak smile, and a genuine one. She'd only seen him smile like that on rare occasions.

"Oh lookie," he said faintly. "I got me some viz-ee-tors."

"He's on a few pain meds," the physician whispered to her, "so he may be a little loopy."

"So I'm noticing." Kim read the man's name tag. "Dr. Phillips, is he going to be okay?"

Phillips nodded. "I've heard of Drakken, though he's never been to this prison before. I never believed the stories circulated by other prison physicians, but I do now. The man is like..." He paused.

Kim and Ron waited, wondering.

"By all accounts, Agents, he should be dead. He was kicked repeatedly in the head, for one thing. Yet all we found were bruises. No fractures, no apparent brain damage. He must have one hell of a thick skull."

"Oh, we knew that already," Ron said brightly.

"No broken bones, even?" Kim asked in wonder.

"A few minor fractures, that's all. Mostly just bruising. And he healed so fast from his previous injury that there are no major complications concerning that. But," and Phillips shifted into authority mode, "he does need rest, so try to make this quick."

"Yes, sir," Kim said. She led Ron up the bed. "Hi, Dr. Drakken. How are you feeling?"

Drakken grinned stupidly. "Wunnerful. Never better. Can I have some cocomoo?" His wrists were shackled to the bed frame, but he flapped his hands against the sheets like a kid, flap flap flap flap! "Cocomooooooooooooo!"

Ron leaned close to Kim. "We won't get any answers out of him. He's on Mars."

"We have to try, Ron." Kim turned back to Drakken, whose eyes were now crossed as he tried to focus on his nose.

"You know," he slurred, "my nose really mus' be liddle like people say cuz I can' see it. Zit there?"

"Yes, Drakken, your nose is fine," Kim told him soothingly.

"Oh goody. I'd really look icky without a nose, y'know? Mister No-Nose. Couldn't smell preddy flowers. I like flowers." He seemed to recognize them then. "Oh. It's you two, Kimbly-Kim an'...an'...whatever you are. Whaddaya want? Bring me any cocomooooooooooooo?"

Kim paused, then said gently, "We were concerned when we learned that you were attacked again, and—"

"Oh that." Drakken flapped his hands, flap flap flap flap! "Bad guards, bad guards!"

"Drakken, do you have any idea who—?"

"Nope nope nopsie nope..." Drakken closed his eyes. "It was nasty, tho," he then said, "an' I fell right in thu trap like a stoopid noob. If Shegowuzair, she woulda protect...ed...ed me. Tha's what I pay 'er for. But she was'n there." He seemed to pout. "Bad Shego."

Kim was afraid he would ask where Shego was like last time, but the thought didn't seem to occur to him. Instead he started to whistle. If he normally knew how to whistle, it wasn't working now because nothing but air blew through his lips. He didn't seem to care and kept on doing it as if he were creating a tune. He even started flapping his hands to the beat.

Ron took a try. "Dr. D, that's a mighty good song you're whistling."

Drakken stopped. "Course it is. Wrote it myself. I call it Thu Beat Thu Shit Outta Me Blues. Needs uh harmonica, tho, t'give it that authentic prison I-wanna-die sound. Maybe a Gospel group. Yeah, a bunch uh harmonies an' stuff. That'd sound preddy cool..."

Kim winced. "Drakken, we really need your help. Is there anything you remember about the attack? Any clues that can help us find out who's doing this to you?"

"Jammis did it," Drakken told her as if she were a stupid child. "An' what's-his-name...uh, Riiiiiiico-lahh! An' that other guy...I dunno the other guy, but he had hard fists. Ouchie." Drakken snorted. "Guess my heinie's really in the dumper this time, huh?"

Kim and Ron continued to question Drakken for a few more minutes, but it was clear he had nothing helpful to say. "May we return to question him again when he's off the pain meds?" Kim asked Dr. Phillips afterwards.

"I'm afraid Mr. Lipsky is scheduled for transfer within 24 hours."

"May I ask where?" asked Kim.

"I'm afraid I can provide that information only to Dr. Director. You'll have to ask her."

_Oh, I certainly will,_ Kim thought. Out loud she said, "Well, thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Phillips," and she shook his hand, followed by Ron.

The Intern-Agents were escorted off the prison grounds with no more information than what they'd started with.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Time to Jet!

_Just a quick note to everybody who's waited so long -- I'M DONE! I've finished this story! I wrote "The End" last night! Yippeeee! So I'll post the rest of the story as I have been doing, and the new final material will follow. Hee hee.  
_

Time: 3 days after the second attack

Shego ate the swordfish fillet slowly, savoring the wonderful flavors. She hadn't enjoyed swordfish in a while, and it was making a scrumptious ending to a pretty good day.

She was in another one of her safe houses, this one in California—a loft condo in Studio City, Los Angeles. She'd recently finished another messenger job. She hated messenger jobs, but some rich guy had paid her a ton of cash to deliver the first one halfway across the country to Colorado (against his warning she had peeked at it only to find it was in some kind of code), so when he asked her to deliver a second coded message to the west coast, she jumped for it. The guy even gave her a hot cherry red sports car to use for the necessary travel. After all, she was green-skinned Shego and couldn't use public transport. She'd had a blast driving like a bat out of Hell down some of the more lonely highways leading to her drop-off points.

She'd delivered the second message to some corrupt government fellow way up in Olympia. She'd spent a week there checking out the clubs and robbing a few jewelry stores for fun, and then she'd driven south along scenic 101 to her comfy safe house in LA. Now she was watching the news while eating dinner, the lovely take-out swordfish plate from a swanky Hollywood restaurant. She had placed the order by phone and then paid a reasonably clean bum on the street to pick it up for her. As she ate, she hoped the rich guy's stooge would contact her again. Much as it was beneath her, he paid so well that she wouldn't have to take any other measly jobs if he needed her again.

Suddenly she dropped her fork, almost choking on the fish she'd been about to swallow. One of the leading stories on the news chilled her to the bone.

It had happened again.

When she'd learned of Drakken's stabbing a month earlier, she had trashed her Florida condo in fury. Yes, she and Drakken were villains and yes, their world was full of danger, but nothing like that had ever happened to either of them during the years they'd worked together. Shego had been shocked and dismayed as well as furious because nobody had the right to hurt Dr. D except her!

She'd had to think about that for awhile. She realized that Drakken was almost like a piece of property to her. She felt as if she owned him. Nobody had the right to mess with him but her. Nobody had the right to mock him or frighten him or hurt him but her. Shego didn't understand that feeling. There was something deep and disturbing about it, and she didn't like deep feelings about anything. So she had brushed it aside, as she did so many of her emotions, and concentrated on the task at hand—finding her "property."

She had done all she could during that month to find Drakken but she'd come up empty. Drakken had to be in a prison somewhere! Where else could he be?

Now he'd been attacked again. He'd been beaten to within an inch of his life. News reports said nothing beyond that fact, but Shego realized the truth now—two attacks, two different prisons. The authorities were shifting him around because somebody had a hit out on him. No doubt he'd already been moved again by now. "But where?" she asked out loud, her voice harsh with anger. And who was behind it?

Those questions pushed her into overdrive. She could no longer wait for info to come to her over the criminal networks. She could no longer depend on her contacts. She had to act Shego-style, which meant she had to personally check all the maximum security prisons in the whole damned country one at a time. If she had to blast down the walls of each one with her plasma fire and check every cell, she would do just that. Somebody was messing with her Dr. D., and she didn't like that, not at all.

Step One: she had to retrieve her jet.

--

Time: the next day

Shego stood at the base of the Caribbean island tower and stared up at the lair with its array of oddly-angled windows and jutting extensions. The furthest of those extensions was actually Drakken's most dangerous lab where he conducted experiments that had the most chance of blowing up in his face. He'd always figured that if that lab blew up, at least it wouldn't take the rest of the lair along with it. The fact that such an explosion would probably kill him never entered his mind. Shego had, when first employed, thought he was crazy. At this point she didn't think it, she knew it for a fact. But Drakken's craziness also contained an eternal optimism and a certain joyous defiance of the laws of nature. She would never say it to his face, but she liked that about him.

She surveyed the area carefully, sure that Global Justice had removed all of Drakken's defenses and installed their own. GJ's R&D scientists were always drooling with geek eagerness to study Drakken's design work. Now they had a whole lair full of gadgets to pick around at. _Though I doubt they'll ever understand how he comes up with his designs, especially his circuit boards,_ she thought with grim humor. _They're as bizarre as Dr. D himself._

She decided to use the secret entrance at the base of the tower. It was a little hole near the main door, hidden with a plain old rock. If anybody found it, they'd immediately dismiss it. Nothing bigger than a cat could fit through. _Unless you have a key,_ Shego thought, plucking a set of keys out of her leg pouch. She selected what looked like a door key, but there was no door knob to put it in. Instead, she aimed the tip of the key at a conch shell near the door and pinched the metal hard. The key shot a beam of yellow light onto the shell, and the shell beeped ever so faintly. The shell wasn't really a shell, of course, but a transceiver, and suddenly the hole grew bigger. She still had to wriggle through on her stomach, but she made it through.

Once inside the little cramped space beyond, Shego used her key device to shrink the hole again, then reached out an arm and put the rock back in place. From here, she merely had to crawl along a low dirt tunnel that would lead straight to the foyer. She did so, then opened the fake air vent at the foyer floor and squeezed out. She was filthy now—yet another catsuit ruined—but under the circumstances, she let it go.

She rose to her feet right where she would have been if she'd been able to use the door. _Good, no agents,_ she thought, glancing about. She was sure there were plenty up in the lair itself, but it looked like the stairway up would be clear. She didn't dare use the elevator.

It was a long climb, but Shego was in such good shape that she ran almost the entire way up. She gave herself a moment to rest at the top before easing the door open just a crack to peek into the huge space beyond. She and Drakken used this entry cavern as a multi-purpose room, but they called it the Livingroom. Hey, the TV, a sofa and a coffee table were in one corner, so that made it a Livingroom.

No one was there.

Shego eased in and crept along the wall, heading for an archway that would lead down a long corridor that opened onto the hangar. Almost every room in the lair had a direct route to the hangar to make escape as easy as possible. She hoped that GJ hadn't moved too much of the junk that Drakken had piled up along the corridor—that junk would provide her hiding places from which to attack any agents along the way.

As she crept along, she frowned. GJ must have gone through every blasted crate, box and bag in the place, including the stuff in the corridor. Thankfully they'd left boxes of uninteresting junk where they had been, so there was just enough stuff left.

She spotted a GJ agent far up ahead, slouched in boredom against the door frame. She approached him in spurts, darting silently from crate to crate, from box to box, until she was close enough to take him out with a one quick green zap.

The agent hit the floor with a _flump!_ and fortunately, the sound didn't set off any alarms. Shego spotted her jet beyond the doorway and, stepping over the prone man, she warily entered the hangar.

"That's far enough, Shego," came a stern male voice. "Sit down on the floor right where you are. Sit on your hands, please."

Shego chuckled. She couldn't see the agent and she had no idea if there was more than one. There had to be, but what did she care? "You clowns really think you're gonna catch me?" she drawled.

A single GJ agent emerged from a shadowed corner of the hangar, a gun in his hand. "Yes, we do. We're not playing around with you anymore. This gun is loaded, and there are several other guns trained on you. You're good, Shego, but you can't dodge bullets."

"Wanna bet?" With that, Shego leapt straight up into the air as high as she could manage while simultaneously spinning, shooting off a constant stream of her glow power in a wide arc. She heard "I'm hit!", one wordless scream, and a grunt. When she landed, again facing the first agent, she took him out with a flying kick that came so fast he didn't even have time to fire. He'd been completely amazed by her Matrix-style stunt and, despite years of training, had stupidly stood in awe.

Shego dusted off her hands. "Amateurs." Louder she said, "Yo, GJ! I'm sure you've got recording devices in here, so lemme give you a word to the wise—step up your recruitment qualifications. These guys were way beyond lame!" She sauntered over to her jet, got in, conducted all the required pre-flight checks, and took off into the blue Caribbean sky.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Shego's Mission

Time: two days later

Kim expected to hear news about Shego at some point. There were many times during her busy days at school and her busy evenings and weekends as a GJ intern that she stopped to think about the green-skinned woman. Drakken had been attacked in prison twice now, and Shego hadn't shown up to help him. Clearly she couldn't find her boss. Or was she even looking? Kim wondered. Shego had stayed off the radar since her escape after the Li'l Diablo plot. What was she doing?

Finally Dr. Director received news—Shego had just stolen her jet from the old Caribbean lair. The agents there hadn't stood a chance.

Kim and Ron were assigned to find her.

Kim called Wade, and the boy genius tracked her down. "She's at one of Big Daddy Brotherson's compounds," Wade reported via Kim's wrist Kimmunicator. "I'm surprised she's exposed herself like this. Even though the place is fairly well hidden, it's still known to GJ. I'm thinking she may be there to gear up. If you move fast, you might catch her."

"We have access to GJ's hoverjet," Kim replied. "We'll get her. Send coordinates to the jet's computer."

"Gotcha," Wade acknowledged.

Soon Kim and Ron were zooming their way to Caracas, Venezuela.

Ron shuffled through the files on Brotherson's Caracas operation as they neared the coordinates. "Looks like the place is an international Villains-R-Us store," he commented.

"I think that's pretty much it," Kim replied. "Although I'm wondering why Shego would need a place like that. She wouldn't need those kinds of supplies unless she was up to something."

"Which is why I'm hoping she's got sense enough to listen to us," said Ron.

Kim shrugged. "This is Shego we're talking about, Ron. In some ways she's completely predictable. In others, she is so not. We'll have to wait and see."

Kim landed the hoverjet on a flat rocky plain far outside the city. Just on the other side of the nearby hill was, as Ron put it, Villains-R-Us. The hoverjet was shielded and they hoped they hadn't been picked up on radar, but with Brotherson's resources, one could never tell. So the two young Intern-Agents prepared for possible trouble. Kim did not like carrying a weapon, but she had to according to GJ rules. So she resolved now, as she had from the start of her internship, never to use it. She'd gotten along just fine so far without the use of bullets. She wasn't going to start now. She and Ron both exchanged reluctant looks as they checked their guns according to procedure and then slid them into their holsters.

They started walking. Kim pulled at her uniform collar as she trudged up the hill, annoyed by the fact that the stupid thing still felt tight even though she'd had it professionally altered long ago. She wished she could perform her GJ duties in her own mission clothes, but an official internship required the official uniform—a definite handicap, considering where they were going.

"Y'know, KP, one look at us and the villains aren't going to be very happy," Ron commented as if reading her thoughts.

"Ya think?" Kim responded. "We need to go in quiet."

The minute they crested the hill and peeked over, however, they realized that option was impossible. A band of Brotherson's thugs were standing on the other side with an array of weapons trained on the teenagers.

"Well hey, look at this!" Ron said with desperate enthusiasm. "A welcoming committee!"

"Hardly," the lead thug said. "Come with us."

"We're here to find Shego," Kim said quickly. "We don't want any trouble. We just need to speak with her, that's all, I swear."

The lead thug waited while his fellow thugs disarmed Kim and Ron. Then he gestured with his gun. "Walk."

Kim and Ron let the thugs lead them down the other side of the hill and into the largest building of what looked like a military complex. The terrain all around was flat, rocky and sparsely vegetated, and the entire compound had been painted to match the dreary landscape. From the air it was hardly noticeable. All visiting villains parked their vehicles—planes, hoverjets, helicopters, etc.—in a hangar area covered by a camouflage net. The thugs were wearing appropriate camouflage uniforms, too, so Kim figured their job was to stay outside and guide clients in_. Or intercept unwelcomed GJ agents, _she thought sourly.

A thug opened the door to the building, and Kim and Ron were pushed through. Most of the thugs hung back at that point—only the lead guy and one other entered the building, escorting their captives along a dark hallway, up a flight of steps, and into a small room. "Wait here," said the lead thug, and both thugs disappeared through a door on the other side of the room.

Kim and Ron waited tensely. "I hate this part," Ron whispered. "I'm not good at waiting in small rooms. Anything could happen. They could gas us, or let in hungry alligators, or—"

Kim gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Patience is good for the soul."

"Yeah, well, whoever said that wasn't stuck in a room waiting to get gassed, or to fight off hungry alligators, or to—"

The door opened. "In," ordered the lead thug.

Kim and Ron entered the room. "Shego!" they both yelled, totally surprised to see the villainess just standing there.

"Hiya, Princess, buffoon." Hands on her hips, Shego stood next to Big Daddy Brotherson. As usual, Brotherson had parked his impressive bulk cross-legged on a pile of exotic fluffy pillows like some kind of sultan of old. The entire room was decorated in a sort of desert sheikh theme, with Arabian lamps and silk wall draping. And as usual, Big Daddy had an aquarium in the room, too. This one was somewhat squat but extremely long. A lone baby shark swam lazily from one end to the other, back and forth, back and forth, seeming to grin with all teeth at no one in particular. Armed thugs stood in each corner of the room.

"Ah, Miss Possible, Mr. Stoppable," Big Daddy greeted amiably. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Kim quickly began, "Please believe me when I say we would have asked to come if we—"

"—thought I would say yes?" Big Daddy finished, and he chuckled. "I find it most interesting that Miss Go was just telling me that she was expecting you to arrive any time now."

"Huh? How would you know that?" Ron asked Shego.

"Hello! I stole my jet, didn't I?" Shego said. "GJ was bound to put you two on the case, and I know enough about the nerdlinger to figure he'd manage to track me down. He really ought to be in crime. He'd make a fortune with that brain of his."

"Wade would never work for villains!" Kim said.

"Whoa whoa, hold the reins there, Kimmie. I was just saying."

"And I was just saying to this guy," Kim said, indicating the lead thug, "that we're actually here to see you, Shego." She looked at Big Daddy. "No offense, Mr. Brotherson."

Big Daddy nodded. "None taken. But tell me, would your errand perchance have anything to do with poor Dr. Drakken? I understand he's not doing well behind bars these days."

Kim noticed how Shego's eyes practically shot laser beams at Big Daddy for his casual words. Her fists clenched, but otherwise she didn't move.

"We're looking for whoever put the hit out on him," Kim said.

"And lemme tell ya, we are so amazingly surprised that you don't know who it is," Ron added daringly.

Big Daddy's left eyebrow rose. "You are aware, I'm sure, that if I did know the identity of this mysterious person or persons, I would decline to admit such knowledge. So the information you seek is not yours to obtain from me either way."

Ron nodded sagely. "He hasn't got a clue, KP," he murmured.

"Okay, look, Princess," Shego butted in, "if it's me you want to talk to, why are you talking to him?"

"Contain yourself, Miss Go," Big Daddy said with slight warning in his voice. "I'm quite delighted that I happen to be visiting this particular compound at such a point when these two individuals have stopped by. I'm satisfied to see that they're doing well. You've signed up with Global Justice, I see."

"It's only an internship," Kim specified hotly.

"Yeah," Ron added. "I could never spend an entire career in this uniform. Really, I mean, the fabric they picked looks good, but it doesn't breathe at all!"

Big Daddy chuckled. "Let me assure you both that despite our past conflicts, I have the utmost respect for you. Even your naked rodent is admirable. You still have him, don't you?"

Rufus poked his head up out of Ron's pocket, stuck his tongue out at Big Daddy, gave him a spitty _Thbhbhbhbbhbhbh! _and ducked back down.

"Rufus, manners!" Ron scolded. To Big Daddy he said, "Sorry 'bout that. I think he's hungry."

"Really? That is a problem easy enough to address." Big Daddy picked up an apple from a nearby bowl of fruit and handed it to Ron.

Rufus immediately popped out of Ron's pocket and sniffed it with interest. But instead of taking the proffered fruit, Rufus spotted the big bowl and leaped directly from Ron right into the bowl. He began stuffing himself with bananas and grapes.

Big Daddy clapped his pudgy hands in amusement. "Oh, I do indeed appreciate the simpler creatures. They're so refreshingly transparent."

Shego snorted. "And speaking of transparent—god, talk about a clunky transition—what exactly do you want with me, Princess? You already know what I'm doing here. It's kinda obvious, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. You're gearing up to go look for Drakken," Kim answered.

"Wow, can't get anything past you."

"So why haven't you looked for him before this?"

"Who says I haven't been?"

"Well, it's been so long and you haven't found him."

"It's been this long and you haven't found the psycho behind the attacks, either. Doesn't mean we're both not looking." Shego shifted her stance, cocking one hip. "But see, here's the thing I don't understand. If you already know why I'm here, and if I already know what you're gonna tell me—that I don't have a clue where Drakken is, that he's not necessarily in a jail but could be anywhere under guard, that I'll never find him, and besides, you'll do your damnedest to stop me and put me in jail—what's the point of this conversation?"

Ron spoke up. "GJ wants to offer you a deal—work with us."

Shego blinked. " 'Scuze me?"

"Work with us, not against us," Kim clarified. "We'll find Drakken's assailant faster and, I'm sure, with much less property damage. GJ wants Drakken in jail, but we do not want him beaten to death while he's there. Look, can't you see that we need to cooperate? We all need to find out who's behind this. Drakken may not be the only villain who will suffer if his attacker isn't found. Who knows what will happen next, to any of you or maybe even to us?" She turned to Big Daddy. "Considering the circumstances, are you sure you can't tell us anything? Maybe we could propose a trade—"

"Global Justice has nothing that I want or need," Big Daddy said lazily. "And...I shall be most forthright, Miss Possible...I have nothing that GJ wants or needs." He paused and grinned. "Not regarding this particular subject, anyway."

Ron leaned close to Kim. "Toldja he didn't know anything."

"So it would seem that our discussion is now ended." Big Daddy gestured, and the lead thug opened the door of the room. "Please allow my associates to escort you back to your jet. I wouldn't want you to see or hear anything that might jeopardize my operations here. Business, you understand."

"Wait, one last question." Kim faced Shego. "If you already know everything we were going to tell you, why do you insist on looking for Drakken anyway? Do you have some lead that we don't?"

A strange expression crossed Shego's face. It could have been anger except there was an odd warmth behind it. It could have been determination except there was an aspect of apprehension to it. Kim saw it go by in a flash and then it was gone, leaving Shego's expression in its normal state of general distain. "Let's just say I'm motivated," Shego drawled. "And I have these." She ignited her plasma on both fists. "And I've made a deal with Brotherson here that will get me where I want to go. Let's leave it at that." She glanced down at Big Daddy. "Hey, it's not like she wasn't going to guess."

He shrugged one pudgy shoulder as if to say, "Of course."

"So what's in it for you?" Ron asked Big Daddy.

"Only the most valuable asset there is," Brotherson answered simply.

"Money, right?"

"No, Ron," said Kim. "Information."

Big Daddy gestured, and one of the thugs picked up the fruit bowl and held it out to Ron. Ron plucked Rufus out of it, along with the banana the mole rat was munching on.

As Kim and Ron were escorted out, Shego called, "Oh, Princess! Tell Dr. Director to leave me to my business! She's ordered GJ not to fool around with me anymore, so I'm now declaring the same to GJ! And to you! Stay outta my way!"

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Lowest Blow

Time: 2 weeks later

Alabama. This time he was in Alabama. And he wasn't in with the general prison population anymore. Officials decided that he would be safest in Isolation.

Normally, Isolation would drive Drakken mad—madder than he already was, anyhow—within a day. He was by nature a fidgeter, a tinkerer, and because he was being "protected" in Isolation, he wasn't allowed out which meant that there wasn't much to occupy his time. He was in a white cell with a white bed in a long white corridor, and he could hear no sounds from beyond that. His world was stark and silent.

He was alone.

But interestingly enough, under the current circumstances, Drakken was grateful to be in Isolation. He didn't want to see anybody or hear anybody, even from a distance. He just wanted to hide. He knew he couldn't hide forever, but right now he desperately needed to feel secure. Isolation was the best he could get in that department.

He had suffered no permanent injury from the beating, which was a good thing and a bad thing. Good because he felt relatively well. Bad because the medical world was becoming a little too interested in him. He really was something unusual, they said. Drakken hoped they had no intentions of stuffing him into a giant beaker and using him for experiments. He was a criminal, which meant that if he possessed some quality that allowed him to heal fast or, even better, shielded him from major injury, scientists would lock him up in a lab for the rest of his life without a second thought. He would be poked, prodded and studied until the day he finally did die.

For this reason, he exaggerated the amount of pain he was in, demanded medications (which he used only sparingly), and complained about aches and pains he didn't have. _No way am I going to be some damned guinea pig, _he thought as he paced, exaggerating a minor limp, back and forth across his cell_. I can see it in their eyes. They can hardly keep from putting me into a Petri dish!_

Several doctors from around the country had already "visited" him, taking blood samples, tissue samples, and every other sample they could think of. Drakken could have ended the whole affair by simply saying, "Look, it's just an unexpected byproduct of an experiment gone bad. I'm not indestructible, I'm just...tough. And it turned me blue, for cryin' out loud! You wanna live your life looking like a zombie corpse? It isn't easy, y'know!"

But he didn't want to give out that information. He knew what would happen next — they'd force him to try to recreate the experiment. Which he couldn't. He'd been so much younger and foolish in those days. He had exposed himself sans mask or gloves to chemicals that weren't even available on the black market anymore, they were so toxic. He'd often contemplated those early days of his evil career when he was willing to try anything regardless of the risk. _People think I do risky things now,_ he often thought. _They have no idea..._

He'd never told anybody about his physical advantage, not even Shego, though on many occasions he had sensed her curiosity regarding his dangerous lifestyle versus his general lack of injury. He just brushed if off and pretended to be lucky. Now he was grateful for his "undocumented feature," though he was playing a fragile game trying to hide it.

"Hiya, Blue!"

"WAAAAAAGH!" Drakken almost jumped out of his clothes. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Kwan, don't scare me like that!" he barked, patting his chest to try and calm his now-racing heart. "You do that on purpose, don't you? And stop calling me Blue!"

The Korean prison guard grinned at him through the cell bars. "But you're a funny guy, Blue."

"I said, don't call me Blue! I hate that! Are you deaf as well as annoying?"

"See?" Kwan said jovially. "Like right now. When you get really angry, a vein in your neck gets real big and your eyes bug out."

"You're trying to make me angry!"

"And I've never seen anybody with teeth as big as yours. Wow. When you yell, you look like a shark with a good dental plan."

"Gyyaaaarrrgh!! Shut up!"

Kwan shut up, still grinning. Drakken heaved air in and out, glaring at the guard, hating him and yet realizing that the man was sort of doing him a favor. When Kwan was on duty, he always made sure to rile Drakken up. And it had a strangely therapeutic effect. It was perhaps a sick and twisted way to get that effect, but it worked.

"Okay, Kwan, you've had your fun," Drakken finally said in a low but civil tone. "I'm royally pissed off. Now what is the reason for your intrusion into my little security bubble here?"

"Got you a surprise."

Drakken's eyes narrowed. "The last guard who had a surprise for me beat the bejeesus out of me."

Kwan took out his keys. "Aw, you know me by now...Mr. Lipsky."

"Ugh! Fine, call me Blue, just not...grrrrr!"

Kwan laughed. "I'm not going to do anything to you except give you a treat. I've told you before, I don't think it's fair that you have to be in here all alone—"

"And I keep telling you that I like it here all alone, thank you very much!"

Kwan paused. "You can't mean that."

"Oh, but I do," Drakken said earnestly. "Wherever you intend to take me, I'm not going. I'm staying right here."

"Well then," Kwan said, "it's lucky for you that I don't intend to take you anywhere. Just hang on a second." He hurried around a corner.

Drakken waited, wondering. Kwan was one of those people who just didn't look like a prison guard. He should have been a grocery clerk maybe, or a university librarian. He was too nice to bear the burdens of this kind of job. _Though that niceness has been quite pleasant,_ he thought.

Drakken had been in this Alabama prison for six days now, and Kwan had already gone out of his way to sneak him a broiled steak for dinner once. He also obtained a little TV set that Drakken could watch a few hours a day, and of course he provided his unique brand of scare therapy. Unlike Jammis in Washington, Kwan not only talked the talk of being a decent man, he walked the walk.

Drakken started to anticipate what the surprise might be—_Another juicy steak, oh please oh please!—_when he heard a strange sound, rather like wood thwacking a melon. Then, from around the corner, he heard the unmistakable sound of a body dropping to the floor.

_Oh god,_ he thought, his heart going straight from calm to pounding in that split second. _No. Not again. Please, not again._ Drakken backed away from his door and pressed himself against the rear wall of his cell as one guard and two inmates approached, all of them grinning. _No no no no no,_ he groaned to himself. _I can't do this again. I can't take it. It can't be happening. It's not going to happen!_

"Kwan had a little accident," the guard said. Drakken didn't know him, nor the inmates. He'd only dealt with Kwan and a guard named Hansen.

"P-Please," Drakken barely managed to say, his voice quaking. "Wh-who's paying you? Who's doing this? I have money, too, y'know, a lot! I can pay you more! Just leave me alone!"

"Why?" one of the inmates asked. "What do you think we're gonna do, freak boy?"

Like an idiot, Drakken answered the question. "Beat me up again?"

The guard laughed. "Nothing so mundane. Not this time." He took out his keys, opened the cell lock door and jerked it wide. "This time, you're done, Lipsky."

He knew it was pointless and stupid, but Drakken yelled, "Heeeeelp!" just in case Kwan was okay or someone else was nearby.

It made the two inmates laugh. "Holy geez," one said, "what are you gonna do next, cry?"

Their heartless laughter made something snap deep inside of Drew Theodore P. Lipsky. "No, I'm not going to cry," he growled. "Not this time." And he rushed forward, body slamming into the surprised guard and pushing him into the two inmates behind him. While the three attackers fell in a tangle to the floor, Drakken skittered past them and fled around the corner.

There lay Kwan, a baton-shaped dent in his skull. He appeared to be very dead. Next to him on the floor was a plate with a hot steak on it. _Oh dear god,_ Drakken thought, turning away. This was all so wrong! He was caught in some hideous nightmare that wasn't swallowing just him anymore. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes.

The guard and inmates were on their feet now, so Drakken began to run. He had no idea where he could go, but maybe he could alert somebody before his attackers could reach him.

No such luck. One of the inmates was a real sprinter. He reached Drakken and leaped on him, slamming him to the floor in a painful skid. Before Drakken could get his wits about him again, the other inmate reached him. The two grabbed his arms and began to haul him back to his cell.

"NO!" Drakken screamed, kicking and thrashing. He managed to get one arm free, and he drove a small but desperate fist into one inmate's face.

The man howled in surprised pain and instinctively punched back, catching Drakken in the neck. It wasn't near his throat enough to gag him, but for a moment Drakken couldn't move as a nerve in his neck spasmed, causing his arms to go numb. By then the guard had reached them, and he had no qualms about slapping Drakken across the face with such force that the mad scientist's head whipped to one side hard enough to pull a tendon. Drakken cried out, only to have a rag stuffed in his mouth.

"You're gonna take it, Lipsky, and we're gonna have fun givin' it to ya." The guard led the way, the two prisoners behind him hauling Drakken along between them. Drakken continued to struggle and almost managed to get his arm free again, but the guard just turned around and slapped him as before, almost knocking Drakken out.

The inmates threw their victim back into his cell. "Take off his clothes," the guard ordered as he tugged at his own belt.

Drakken, bleary and confused, barely heard the words through a haze, but he puzzled them together. He screamed in fear and rage, the rag in his mouth muffling the sound. _No, not this! _he thought in utter horror. _God in heaven, noooooooooo! Shego, help meeeeeeee!_

Shego couldn't hear him.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Blue Tears From Green Eyes

Time: 3 days after the third attack

Shego watched the news. She heard what happened. So many emotions rushed through her that she sat frozen on the couch of her Middleton safe house, stunned. Shocked. Feeling a pain in her chest she had never felt before. Thinking thoughts she had never thought before.

It was some time before she could move.

When she did, it was to quickly change from her comfortable jeans and T-shirt into her green-and-black catsuit. Then she grabbed her car keys and stalked out the door.

Twenty minutes later she parked a block away from Kim Possible's house. It was a Saturday afternoon and the family car was gone, but she sensed that Possible was inside. Stalking up the front yard path, her stride hard and fast, her fists balled, her jaws clenched, Shego reached the door and blasted it down with her glow.

"POSSIBLE!" she bellowed, her anger getting the best of her. "Get your butt over here before I blast your entire house down!"

Shego heard the sound of scrambling footsteps on wooden stairs, and then Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable ran into the living room from the hallway. "Shego!" Kim cried. She immediately crouched into a defensive posture. "I can guess why you're here."

Instead of talking, Shego leaped at the girl, her fury giving her extra power. Her foot met Kim's stomach in a powerful kick, and Kim staggered back, banging up against the wall. Shego crouched low, ready to attack again. "You could have done something!" she snapped. "You're with GJ, they have a prison! This didn't have to happen! It's your fault, Princess! This is all your fault!"

"It's not her fault," said Ron warily. "Drakken chose to move in a dangerous crowd. He knew the risks. So did you."

"But he's DEAD!" Shego shrieked, her plasma flaming bright green. "Drakken is DEAD! You knew he was in danger in the prison system! GJ knew! They could have saved him instead of letting..." She faltered. "...instead of..." Her fighting stance slipped, her plasma sputtered out, and her body relaxed. "Oh, Dr. D," she whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

She turned her face away, not wanting the Princess and the buffoon to see her like this. For the first time since she'd become a villain, Shego lost control of her finer emotions. All she could see in her mind's eye was Drakken lying dead in a dingy cell, battered and broken. The news reporter said that's where the prison officials had found him, right in his cell, sprawled halfway across his cot, bloody and naked. She didn't want to think about what he must have endured, how he must have felt, what his last thought might have been. "What they did to him..." she whispered. Her voice hitched as she murmured, "Oh, Dr. D..."

--

"Shego." Kim chanced a step toward the grieving villainess, thankful that her parents and the tweebs were out for the day. She and Ron had been upstairs sharing some...private time. Both had known that Shego would show up somewhere, but they hadn't expected this. "Shego, I'm sorry it happened. I truly am."

"Me, too," Ron added somberly.

Rufus popped up out of Ron's pocket. "Mm-mmm," he said softly.

Shego looked at Kim with a snarl. "Then why didn't you help him? Why didn't you suggest he be taken to GJ facilities? Nobody could have gotten to him there!"

Kim chose her words carefully. "Shego, GJ has a jail, but it's not designed for long term. It's really just a holding facility. Drakken was lawfully put where he belonged. Even you know that the prisons tried to keep one step ahead of the problem, but whoever's behind this managed to stay one step ahead of them."

"You know we've been working all this time trying to figure out who it is," Ron added. "We're stumped." He paused. "And uh...we've been watching you blast your way into prisons all over the country. Do you have any ideas?"

"No!" Shego spat angrily. "But I paid personal visits to all the villains—Fiske, Dementor, Killigan, the Señors, all of them. They had nothing to do with it and don't know anybody who did."

"How can you be so sure?" Kim asked.

Shego lit one hand. "Believe me, Cupcake, I'm sure," she said, and extinguished the flame.

"Look..." Kim exchanged a glance with Ron, then faced Shego again. "I know how you feel—"

"Oh please, Princess, don't even go there," Shego said. "You don't know anything except your clean little part of the world, all the happy bunny-rabbit sunny-day shit. You don't understand the people you battle. You never will. Save your condolences, I don't want them. Just find the sick bastard who did this. I'll be looking, too."

"So you're finally willing to exchange information?"

"Kimmie, I'll put on a GJ uniform and march in line for a day if it means gettin' the guy who k...who ki..."

Kim watched the villainess struggle once more to speak. She had never once suspected that Shego had feelings for Dr. Drakken, but this display suggested just that. Shego never stuttered. She never cried. She never showed the world her emotions, except for blazing anger and sarcastic disdain. Did Shego actually...love Drakken? Kim's heart went out to the villainess, and she even felt a twinge of guilt.

Shego's lip was quivering, but she finally managed to finish her sentence. "...who k-killed Dr. D..." With that, she turned and left.

"Uh, Kim...shouldn't we have arrested her?" Ron asked after Shego was gone. "I mean, she's been blowing up prisons, and she's still wanted for the Diablo plot."

Kim frowned at him. "Ron, I can't believe you. Shego's just lost someone more important to her than we ever realized."

Ron did a double-take. "Dr. Director won't care. She told us—"

"I know what she told us, Ron." Kim sighed. "But I just can't do it. Someone very bad is still out there, and we have to find him, her, whoever it is. Left free, Shego's going to keep looking, and she might find out something we can't."

Ron shook his head. "Dr. Director won't like it."

"No, she won't," Kim agreed uneasily. "But that's my position." She glanced at Ron. "Are you with me on this?"

After a brief moment, Ron took her hand. "You bet, KP. Always and forever."

Kim kissed him. "I love you, Ron."

"Booyah," Ron said softly before kissing her back.

Then Kim slumped. "I just wish we could have told Shego the truth..."

TBC

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I put this note here when I originally posted this story. It still applies to any new readers:_

_Okay, at this point you all think I'm some sicko who's going to escalate the violence beyond all reason. Nope, the violence is over. It was necessary for the rest of the story to happen the way it's going to happen. Honest!! It's just like the lyrics of an old rock song, "You have to go to Hell before you get to Heaven." That's pretty much what's happening here. But don't think the drama and surprises are over! As I've said earlier, I don't think any of you will guess who's behind this, why Drakken was targeted, etc. And there's plenty of action to come...action in many interesting forms, I might add. I'll update again soon. Heh heh heh._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Yes, Sir

Time: 3 days after the third attack

"Dammit!"

The word echoed in the huge cavernous room and slowly lost itself within the farthest dark corners. The room was so big and so dim that anyone entering would have had to stop and let their eyes adjust before advancing any further. But the fact was, only two people ever entered this room, and they were used to it.

There was one large desk in this room, cluttered with papers and various odd gadgets. It faced a giant computer screen mounted on the craggy wall. The computer screen and a single but very bright overhead lamp were the only two sources of light. Utilizing this light was a man sitting in a high-backed padded leather chair. He scowled at the news he saw on the screen.

"They're saying he died. Died! Pshaw! It's nothing but a stunt to flush me out. He can't die that easily, I know that now. He'll pull through again, the bastard. He's like...like..."

"Like you, Sir?"

Sir turned to his Personal Assistant, a tall black-suited gentleman with a face like a hawk. "In a way, I suppose he is," Sir admitted upon thinking about it. Sir had lived quite a perilous life. Like Drakken, he had a talent for attracting violence, yet he had never been stopped by it. He had been injured on many occasions—he didn't have Drakken's unnatural physical advantage—but still, he had always thrived on evil and villainy.

But that had been in his younger years. Now he was old. These days his brand of villainy was subtle, very very subtle—so subtle that he was completely off the radar. Authorities around the world, and especially Global Justice, presumed that he'd been dead for some time. He was proud of that. He had faked his death years ago by blowing up one of his many secret facilities, and the body found in the ruins—or rather, the few pieces left—had been deemed his. He had prepared the stolen corpse carefully, as gruesome as that task had been. But oh, it had been worth it! Now he enjoyed great power, wealth, and complete anonymity.

Yes, Sir was an evil success story. Almost. If not for one man. A man who had completely ruined his greatest scheme, thus robbing him of his greatest triumph. A man who had brazenly wronged him again and again, and who would continue to do so unless he was stopped. For good.

Sir growled out loud, a low venomous sound.

Personal Assistant, who was used to such behavior from his employer, asked a question while busily preparing his employer's tea from a rolling cart he'd wheeled in moments earlier. "May I inquire as to what Sir intends to do now?" He deftly kept the shiny silver tea cup from making any disturbing clink as he gently set it upon its saucer. Sir hated extraneous noises.

Sir thought a moment. "What? Oh. I don't know yet. But that blue fool is going to die one way or another. I can't stand thinking about him anymore. He's caused me more trouble than I ever could have imagined. I want him dead, buried, and out of my way!"

Personal Assistant poured tea into the silver cup, added cream and sugar, and carried the beverage to Sir by moving with such reserved grace that he seemed to be gliding rather than walking. "Your tea, Sir."

"Thank you." Sir accepted the cup and took a sip. "Excellent as always."

"Your satisfaction is my pleasure, Sir."

Sir sipped his tea, frowning at the computer screen. "This isn't over," he muttered to himself. "No, not by a long shot. I know what will happen now. I'm surprised Global Justice hasn't done it already." He set his tea on the desk and rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. "I feel a plan beginning to form..."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Dead Man

Time: about a year later

Contrary to the morbid news reports that had kept the world agape for weeks, Drew Theodore P. Lipsky, aka Dr. Drakken, was not dead. Indeed, he was very much alive.

These days he lived in a cabin in Peak Town, a tiny lake resort at the top of Mount Middleton. The cabin was at the end of a windy cul-de-sac and it was small—"secluded and cozy," as the realtors would say. Two bedrooms, one of them a work space for the various projects he was contracted to do for Global Justice. The master bedroom held a twin-sized bed with worn mismatched sheets, pillow cases and comforter.

At first, GJ had provided Drakken with all necessities. He wasn't allowed to exit the house, not even to stand on the balcony outside his little dining nook's sliding glass door to get some fresh air. The cabin appeared normal on the outside, but every door and window was sealed. Alarms and sensors were placed throughout the house and yard. If he so much as pushed too hard on a pane of glass or touched a doorknob, GJ would know.

He tolerated the fact that every room had cameras that recorded his every move. Repeated jail sentences had already dulled him to the routine embarrassments of incarceration—strip searches, cavity searches, non-private defecation, the pressure of knowing that someone somewhere was watching every move he made, whether it be combing his hair or scratching his privates. That was prison life, and although he despised it, he'd learned to live with it.

After two months, he proved to GJ that he had no interest in escape. He had nowhere to go, and his health now was such that a life on the road was simply not an option. The last prison attack had left its mark on him. Yes, it wasn't easy to injure Drew Lipsky, but he _could_ be injured, and the last attack had done it. He had fought back too much, so the guard had resorted to using his baton. Liberally. And with great zeal.

So now Drakken needed a cane to walk, as his left knee and ankle had been struck repeatedly in what he snidely referred to as "the state authorized gang bang." He always winced at the memory and his stomach would get queasy. Whoever wanted him dead had finally stooped to the lowest of the low, setting him up for the worst kind of prison assault a man could suffer. He was rather proud that he'd finally fought back, but then again, his attackers had told him that they didn't intend to let him live after their fun. At that point he'd been ready if not willing to say goodbye to a very cruel world.

And then a guard not in on the plan had heard the noise and come to investigate. Drakken was saved after all. But plenty of damage had already been done. Physically hurt and psychologically freaked, his already diminished rational mind had gone spinning down the toilet. He'd spent almost nine months at a GJ-monitored mental hospital. When he'd gotten out, functional for the most part but still not entirely up to speed, Dr. Director had come up with this plan, the only plan that might save his life.

But she wouldn't fix his doggone knee. Neither GJ nor the government would pay for the required surgery. Since all his assets had been confiscated long ago, Drakken couldn't pay for surgery either. The ankle seemed to have healed on its own and was fairly functional now, if not very flexible anymore, but the knee was wrecked. It hurt constantly and gave out on him routinely. He walked with a limp that drove him crazy, but he kept reminding himself that it was better than being lame and in a wheelchair.

He could do without the cane at times by using walls and furniture as supports. Yes, he fell when the knee suddenly gave out, and sometimes those falls hurt like hell, but GJ didn't care as long as he managed to get up again. He understood their point of view even if he thought it was barbaric. He was still a prisoner, a world-class villain, and his knee problem only made it easier for GJ to contain him.

So time went by, with Drakken obeying every rule put down by GJ and working seven days a week on assigned projects. He knew that Dr. Director was surprised by his cooperation, but he didn't expect her to loosen the strings as soon as she did. Apparently she was curious to see how well he would behave if given some leeway. So now he could go out on his balcony and enjoy the mountain air—and risk a sixty-foot drop down the mountainside below if he changed his mind about escape. It was a moot point anyway. GJ had chipped him in such a way that he couldn't remove the tiny tracking device without digging deep into his own shoulder. He had no interest in even trying.

Soon GJ stopped providing him necessities and gave him a small—very small—paycheck every week. They provided him with an old car that had satellite tracking and a kill switch. It would simply shut down if he drove beyond a restricted area or into certain neighborhoods where he wasn't allowed. If he tried to tamper with the control devices in any way, the car would signal GJ and he'd be back in prison so fast his head would spin.

GJ instructed Drakken to use a holographic imaging device when he left the house to shop. He had invented the device himself some time ago, but never used it because he used to enjoy his evil blue image. Now when he left the house he appeared as a normal-skinned man with spikeless brown hair, brown eyes, and no scar. The imager made his nose a bit larger, his chin a bit smaller, his physique a bit bulkier as if he were overweight. That part he didn't appreciate, but he certainly didn't look like the evil villain Dr. Drakken, and that was what mattered.

He was ordered to shop at bulk warehouse stores and to stock up on nonperishables so that he wouldn't need to leave his house for weeks at a time, except to get fresh fruit and vegetables at the little local store. Even then, he was ordered never to speak to the locals and to buy his items and immediately leave. He could make this trip only once a week.

He was given so little money that all purchases except food were made at thrift shops. He bought his clothes at the Salvation Army store, along with most of his furnishings and anything of entertainment value like old books and magazines. He was not allowed to get a library card but was given a TV set that received one local broadcast channel, one movie channel and, after he had practically begged them, the Science Channel.

He'd never lived so fugally in his life. He grumbled at the worn state of his sheets and linens. He had to force himself into clothes that were already worn, torn, colorless, frail. But GJ only wanted him dressed. They didn't care how.

He hated how low he had fallen, but he knew he was lucky. Even this was better than being in jail. He'd be dead by now, or messed up beyond all help. Every night he endured at least one nightmare about his attacks, so he began to sleep in odd little bursts, collapsing when exhaustion hit him and otherwise trying to stay awake no matter what time it was. He sometimes wondered if there was still the other shoe out there, ready to drop when he least expected it. Whoever had wanted him dead probably still wanted him dead, right? What he didn't know was that GJ, in cooperation with prison authorities, had given the news media false reports about the third attack. Drakken was unaware that, as far as the outside world was concerned, he was dead. Dr. Director never told him because she wanted him to remain on the alert at all times, for his own good.

Perhaps the hardest part of his house arrest was that he was always alone. He knew that two GJ agents alternated monitoring the feed from his surveillance cameras, but they were way back at GJ HQ. He had no one to talk to in the house except for Dr. Director during the few times she appeared on the special monitor installed for direction communications. True, he had often worked alone in his lairs way back when, but the fact that henchmen had been available if he'd really wanted company made that aloneness different than this. And true, he had always talked to himself, grumbling and grousing or humming or singing as he worked.

But after awhile he found himself having long philosophical discussions with his houseplants, or lecturing about rocket engine parts to bugs that appeared in his kitchen, usually scuttling around the sugar container that he kept out on the counter for his coffee. He caught the bugs, put them in a jar and kept them as pets, givings them names and praising them for their mysterious ability to infiltrate a house so securely contained that every tiniest crack was no doubt sealed and set with sensors. The average inmate in any high security prison had at least one person to talk to, even if it was only a guard. Drakken had no one. He feared he might be losing his very last marble when he started to answer himself, changing his voice to "speak" for his plant and bug pals.

Dr. Director was apparently alarmed by this development, too, because in a move that astonished Drakken, she soon provided him with lab equipment. At first he'd only worked on repairs to small GJ devices that could be accomplished with simple tools. It was just to keep him busy, he knew that. But when he began his bug menagerie and started to chat at length with inanimate objects, agents appeared at the door with a van full of lab supplies. The spare bedroom in his house was reinforced, rewired and soundproofed, and a special generator—of his own design, he noticed wryly—was installed to provide the unusual amounts of energy the equipment would need—all off the grid, of course. Drakken was then given assignments to invent devices, usually involving laser technology or robotics, his specialties.

He was delighted by this, but also suspicious. Dr. Director seemed to be playing some kind of game with him, giving him more and more freedoms just to see what he'd do. She began to grant him access to potentially dangerous materials in the lab to see if he would misuse them. It was as if she were daring him to return to villainy so she could get rid of him, permanently, by simply returning him to jail.

So he kept reassuring her that his criminal life was over. The thing that surprised both Dr. Director and himself was the fact that he meant it. He had been stabbed, beaten, raped—he'd had enough. And still Dr. Director placed openings in his path now and then so that he could prove to her that he was sincere. One mistake, she continually warned him, and he'd be back in jail. Drakken admired her ruthlessness. Once he told her that she would make one hell of a supervillain, to which she had scowled and cut off her transmission.

So now, while confined to his little house, Drakken became a full-fledged scientist for GJ. He designed devices for them, he repaired others, he wrote and debugged specialized computer programs—whatever they told him to do. Every once in a while he was given "problem" projects involving space technology, and he often wondered if he was actually helping James Possible down at the Middleton Space Lab. Dr. Director never told him more than he needed to know about his work, but the idea intrigued him.

What he truly came to despise were the new visits by GJ psychiatrist, Dr. Yvonne Turance. As much as he craved company, a tenacious shrink wasn't the answer. He didn't want psychiatric help. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong with him anymore. He'd let his bugs go and had stopped talking to inanimate objects, for the most part, now that he had something interesting to do. And yes, he had once called himself a mad scientist, but he'd always used the term as in "mad science," not a declaration that he himself was mad (though he knew that everyone else presumed it).

Dr. Turance was a tall blonde of about 40 years, a pretty but physically capable no-nonsense woman who was clearly used to dealing with hard cases. From the time he got his lab gear, she started showing up four times a week.

Drakken had refused to speak during their first four sessions, but she had neither cajoled him nor shown frustration. He sat there on his worn couch in his dingy little livingroom, so she just sat there in an equally worn recliner, every once in a while trying to prompt him with a question or provocative statement. He would cross his arms and childishly turn away as if this would actually make her go away. Four sessions and four hours had thus passed.

It was during their fifth session that she finally tricked him into talking. After twenty minutes of mutual silence, she casually asked, "Do you miss Shego, Mr. Lipsky?"

He scowled. He hated that she called him Mr. Lipsky. He wanted to be called Doctor, dammit! Plus he hated his real name, but she had made it clear that Dr. Drakken no longer existed. At the mention of Shego, he felt his face grow hot. "Don't ever say that name to me," he growled. His voice was even more gravelly than usual since he spoke so little.

Dr. Turance smiled. "Ah, so you _can_ talk."

That stoked Drakken's temper, which always made his mouth go faster than his brain. "Of course I can talk! I just don't want to talk to you! And I will not talk about Shego! End of subject!"

Dr. Turance tiled her head just a bit to one side. "You loved her, didn't you?"

Drakken knew that an expression of furious betrayal was blossoming on his face. He couldn't help it. "She was out there, free and clear, while I was getting the crap beaten out of me in prison. She never came to get me, and I know she knew what was happening. If a thing is worth knowing, Shego knows it. She—" He finally managed to shut his mouth. "Get out of here."

Dr. Turance shrugged. "I'm sorry, I can't. There's forty more minutes to this session."

"And just what does dear Dr. Director want you to accomplish with these sessions?" Drakken hissed at her. "You think I haven't already had psychiatrists try to twist me into their pathetically lame versions of normalcy? I am what I am—evil! And I like it! Yet I've sworn obedience to GJ! Everything that I am, everything that's ever mattered to me, is gone! Isn't that enough for you people? Can't you just leave me alone!"

"We want to help you."

"Oh, for Christ's sake…"

Dr. Turance seemed amused. "I thought you were Jewish."

Drakken sneered at her. "Actually, I'm more of an atheist these days."

"Because you feel that God has abandoned you?"

Drakken crossed his arms and looked away, refusing to talk anymore.

"You can put on your I'm-not-here act all you want, Mr. Lipsky. I won't leave until time is up, and I will come back on Thursday."

He didn't respond.

Dr. Turance sighed. "May I bother you for a glass of water?"

Drakken merely sniffed.

She stood up and headed for the little kitchen, which was entirely visible from the livingroom. GJ had chosen a house for Drakken with an open floor plan so that there was, quite literally, no place to hide from the surveillance cameras. "I don't know where you keep your glasses," she finally said.

He clenched his teeth, wishing he had a death ray so he could zap her out of his life. "Cabinet to the right of the sink." He heard the cabinet creak open, then the faucet turn on then off.

Dr. Turance returned to her chair holding a glass with a chip out of one edge. "You can drink right from the tap up here in the mountains," she commented brightly. "Down in Middleton I have to buy Sparkletts."

_Whoop,_ Drakken thought.

She took a sip, then said, "Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Lipsky, that GJ could have just let you die in prison?"

_They practically did,_ Drakken thought bitterly.

When he said nothing aloud, Dr. Turance continued, "Dr. Director chose to go to the trouble to set up this house for you to save your life. In other words, she sees that you have value. I don't think you believe yourself worth anything anymore. That's why you're so angry. You said it yourself—everything you cared about is gone. I suspect that includes your own sense of self-worth. I wouldn't find that surprising, considering what's happened to you."

Drakken frowned, an expression he could take to such an extreme that his whole face seemed to turn dark as a thundercloud. Any mention of his prison attacks, the tiniest reminder of them, made him furious. He grunted, a sound of subdued anger, and felt disgusted by Turance's transparent technique. She was trying to make him talk and was being rather cruel and ham-handed about it.

Yet she continued. "If you don't let the anger out, it's going to—"

"Eat me up inside," he snarked before he realized it.

"Exactly."

Drakken had a thought. "All right. You want to chit-chat? Then let's play Lector's game." He turned on the couch so that he was squarely facing her. "Quid pro quo, Doctor. How about it?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Am I the newbie FBI agent or the cannibalistic maniac?"

"Pick one," Drakken said. "They're equally lame."

That caught her interest. "You think Dr. Lector is lame?"

"One dimensional," Drakken countered. "Fun to watch, sure, but no real goal. Eat your victims. Interesting MO, but all he gets out of it is a nice meal. There's nothing to be gained in the long run."

"Very well," said Turance, "I'll play your game if I get to go first. Answer me this: what's to be gained in the long run?"

Drakken curled his lip in a nasty snarl. "You want me to say world domination."

"Do I?"

"Gah! Do you have to be so damned obvious?"

"I'm not being obvious, Mr. Lipsky. World domination has been your goal for the past, what—decade?"

Drakken leaned back on the couch. "Any ultimate goal, if it is indeed a worthy goal, must be something that will last. For me, that's technology. Yes, I aspire to world domination, but I use my inventions to do it. That is my true goal—domination using my own creations. I'm an inventor more than anything else."

"What about all your…what did Dr. Director say you called it...oh yes, your _outsourcing?"_

"Nyarrrgh! Fine, I stole some equipment and parts. Can't invent every little thing from scratch every single time, especially when your supplies and work space are constantly blown up by a goody-goody cheerleader." Drakken thumped his booted feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles as well as his arms. He knew that, psychologically speaking, he had just taken a classic defensive posture, but he didn't care. He felt defensive. Let the psych-nut have her fun. "What I have invented will affect technology for generations," he spat, "and that's something little Kimberly Ann Possible can't stop."

"How so?"

Drakken grinned. It was not a pleasant grin and he knew it. "I've advanced laser technology more than anyone else on the planet, not that I'll ever get the credit. And my cloning techniques—"

"Your synthodrones? Mr. Lipsky—"

"Doctor! Doctor Drakken!"

"Your name is Drew Lipsky, and you don't have a PhD."

That hit a nerve that make Drakken steaming mad. He leaped to his feet, shouting out, "Like I need some damned university full of stuffed shirts to teach me! I've taught myself through the years, and I've learned through hard experience, not classroom drudgery! I don't need a damned sheepskin to tell me I'm a genius! If it mattered that much to me, I'd have bought a diploma online years ago!"

He calmed down and sat again, clutching his knee, which felt like somebody had poked a nail into it. He shouldn't have moved so quickly to stand up—he'd knocked the joint out of place again. He wanted to go get a pain pill, but he refused to let Miss Braniac know he was in that much pain. "Like I said," he continued, reluctantly letting go of his knee and forcing his voice to sound normal, "I've advanced laser and cloning technology. My synths advanced to the point where they could display distinct personalities. They could adapt to environmental changes and learn from their experiences. I've build robots capable of independent thought. Other scientists are still struggling in all those areas, and I've already paved the way. But will anybody acknowledge my contributions? Of course not, because I'm a villain." Now he started to get steamed up again. "Take James Possible down there at his beloved Space Center. Fool thinks he's a genius rocket scientist, but every rocket he's ever invented was created with the support of the entire Space Center! I've designed rockets by myself in my own facilities! I've traveled in space using my own craft! I've invented generators, engines, computers, robot brains…" He stopped again. Perhaps Dr. Turance wasn't so transparent after all. She not only had him talking, she had him ranting. He folded his arms and clamped his mouth shut.

"Quid pro quo," she said after a moment. "You just told me something. Now it's my turn. Ask me a question."

He said nothing.

"Back to the silent treatment?"

Drakken shut his eyes.

"I won't go away no matter how hard you try to make me."

"I don't care what you do."

"Then what's wrong?"

"…I'm tired."

"No, you're in pain because you hurt your knee by standing up too fast. But more than that, you're angry."

A good twenty seconds passed during which Drakken had to use every ounce of willpower to not leap off the couch, bad knee or no bad knee, and attack the woman. She was right. He was angry, incredibly angry. He had been boiling furious for months. He was so furious that his heart was thumping like a bass drum, and his body hurt with the effort to keep from smashing and destroying every object in his crappy little house. He wanted to shriek his fury to the skies.

Most of all he wanted to cry, cry like a girl, and part of him didn't care that he would look like a fool if he did. After all this time the tears were so locked up, pushed so far back inside his soul that they hurt like a terrible wound. Yet he held them back out of spite. No one was going to see Dr. Drakken's pain. It wasn't their business. They had no right. If he couldn't have privacy on the outside, he was determined to make his own privacy inside himself where nobody could see no matter how hard they tried. Even if it killed him.

Because of this he started to tremble. He clenched his teeth and his fists, trying to hold it in. He had never personally committed a violent act on an innocent person before, but for just that moment, he truly was afraid that he might. For the first time, his control was slipping. He had no idea what he might do, but he knew that men could do awful things without meaning to, just because of pressure.

"Here."

Drakken didn't move.

"Take it, Doctor Drakken."

That made him turn to look at her. She was holding out a flask. "Drink some before you explode."

"What?" was all he could say.

"You're about to detonate. Drink." Her voice took on a commanding tone. "Now!"

So startled and so wound up that he couldn't think of anything else to do, Drakken grabbed the flask and took a good swig. It worked. His insides relaxed as the warmth of brandy spread.

He took another swig, a longer one, and then slowly handed the flask back, trying to keep his hand from shaking. "That was illegal," he finally told her.

Dr. Yvonne Turance tucked the flask back in the inside pocket of her jacket. "I'm not just any psychiatrist, Doctor. Global Justice has given me leeway to do what I need to do for my patients. You feel better, don't you?"

Drakken drew in a long shuddering breath. Yes, he felt better. Not good, but he felt as if a potential Cat 5 had just passed him by. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome." She glanced at her watch. "I'd better go."

Drakken glanced at the wall clock, one of those big clunky things usually used in grade school classrooms—he'd found it in a dumpster and had repaired it. "You have eight minutes left, Dr. Turance," he declared coldly.

She rose from her chair. "So I do. What do you suggest we do with the time?"

The question caught him off guard. "How should I know? Why don't you just leave early?"

She reached out and took his right hand. He didn't expect this and so did nothing to stop her. "You say you're an evil genius," she said, patting his hand. "Prove it."

He snatched his hand back. Was this some tricky part of her therapy plan, to beat down his barriers with liquor and subtle questions and little physical touches? He didn't like to be touched. "I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped.

"How about this," she said. "Your files say you've raised quite a few pets. What were they?"

Drakken thought a moment. He missed having pets. Hell, at this point he would have been happy to have Commodore Puddles back, vicious pee-crazy dog that he'd been. "Not your average house pets," he finally said. "Sharks, piranha, squid, stingrays…I've raised several breeds of snakes and tarantulas for their venom, but those plans never came to fruition…" He looked at her to see if this information was what she meant.

She was watching him with interest. "Go on."

"I bred a new kind of carrot—"

She quirked a smile. "Carrot? As far as I know, carrots are not pets. Nor are they evil."

"Ah, but this one was especially hearty, very hard to kill. I bred it so I could see if it survived after exposure to a new poisonous rabbit I engineered. You see, I was going to destroy certain agricultural targets to alter world economics, but I got stuck figuring out how to keep the rabbits from over breeding and thus destroying non-target plants, which would have obliterated just about every green growing thing on the continent, not to mention other continents if the rodents managed to travel." He couldn't help but grin. "I made them unusually intelligent."

Dr. Turance eyed him. "Where are they now?"

"The rabbits? Oh, they figured out how to pick their cage locks and almost took over the lair. You have no idea how scary a rabbit can be." He shivered at the memory. "Shego had to…well, let's just say we ate well during the following weeks."

"...Oh."

Drakken thought back to his earlier experimentation days. "I also raised lab mice and rats, of course. Ants, bees, scorpions, wasps, praying mantis—but those were for anatomical study. See, I made robots using designs based on certain insect anatomy. But I didn't get far…damned Kim Possible…" He paused. "Why do you want to know all this? If you've got my files, why ask?"

Dr. Yvonne Turance grinned. "Your files aren't complete. Time's up. Goodbye, Mr. Lipsky. See you Thursday."

Drakken frowned as she left. He'd just given her more info for his files, info that would only work against him. _Okay, she's good,_ he thought. _Dammit._

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Right Away, Sir

Time: that same day

Sir sat in his high-backed padded leather chair before his large cluttered desk in his huge cavernous room. He tapped the tips of his fingers together as he thought, bathed in the yellow spot from the single bright overhead lamp and the greyish glow of his giant computer screen. He'd been sitting like this for some time, thinking dark thoughts in his gloomy solitude, sometimes jotting down a note when a particularly interesting idea came to mind.

"Your afternoon tea, Sir," came Personal Assistant's silky voice. The hawk-faced man pushed his rolling cart through the door, making almost no noise at all—the cart was fitted with specially padded wheels, and Personal Assistant's own footfalls were like those of a dancer. He knew better than to bother Sir when Sir was thinking. Then again, Sir demanded his tea on time. This was one of the rare moments when Personal Assistant could interrupt his employer without suffering dire consequences.

"I have him."

Personal Assistant parked the cart and began preparing the tea. "Excuse me, Sir?" he asked with interest.

"I have him, you idiot!" Sir exploded. "I've found him!" He chuckled. "I knew Global Justice would step in. They took him out of the system for his own protection, just as I predicted. It's taken me a year to track him down, but I just got word from Morino."

"Congratulations, Sir. May I inquire as to where he is?"

"Caged up in a cabin on Mount Middleton. GJ has safe houses all over the country, used for all kinds of purposes."

"Just as you have yours, Sir," Personal Assistant pointed out as he gently placed two cubes of sugar into Sir's favorite silver tea cup.

"Obviously!" Sir snapped. "Now all I have to do is get in that cabin. It's locked tight as a donkey's ass." Sir tapped his fingertips together again as he thought. "Dr. Director is a clever woman...very clever..." He grinned, his perfect dentures gleaming in the faint light. "But she forgets the power of money."

Personal Assistant poured hot tea from a silver pot into Sir's silver cup. He stirred cream into it and then, setting the cup soundlessly upon its silver saucer, glided over to Sir's desk and held out the beverage. "Your tea, Sir."

"Just put it on the desk," Sir said, still tapping his fingertips. "It took me months to get a man into GJ, but he's there now. Doing quite well, too. But he's in no position to get at the blue fool. Hmmm..." He waved at Personal Assistant as one would wave at a fly to make it buzz away. "Go fetch me a Nilla bar. I want something sweet to nibble while I think."

Personal Assistant bowed. "Right away, Sir." And with nary a sound, he rolled his cart out of the room.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Exotic

Time: not long after

During the next few visits by Dr. Yvonne Turance, Drakken sensed a definite change between them. What puzzled him was the source of this change. Was it him? Or was it her? And what exactly was this change? Drakken couldn't put a finger on it. But he felt a spark in the air when she was near, almost like electricity. It made his eyesight clearer, his hearing more acute. It made him feel more energetic, more—_there_, more _in the moment _than he'd felt in some time.

Since his attacks, he had begun to view the world as if from a distance, as if he didn't really belong to it anymore but was only a watcher from afar. To keep what little sanity he could, he'd erected a barrier between himself and reality, a buffer zone through which nothing unpleasant could pass.

Unfortunately, to do that he'd also let that barrier cut him off from pleasurable things as well, things as simple as the tangy taste of lemon meringue pie or the soft comfort of a good pillow. He floated in the middle of the spectrum of human experience, making due with vague sensations and sounds, muffled thoughts, noncommittal reactions. This, he figured, was how to stay safe.

Of course he knew that much of his fuzzy-headedness was due to the medications he had to take on a regular basis. To keep him rational and in control, his meds had to "shave the sharp spikes" off his senses, as one doctor put it, leaving only "rounded edges" that would keep him from falling into fits of rage, sadness, fear, and especially depression. He understood this but again, it left him feeling vague and disconnected, like a child who wants to participate in a great game but can't get the gate of the playing field open. So he was left to watch through the fence at everyone else having fun.

In short, his ability to identify the change in Yvonne Turance—or himself—or both of them—evaded him. He sensed it but could make no sense _of_ it. She would show up, badger him into talking, and they'd pretty much argue their way through each hour, getting more and more mutually flustered until the hour was over. More often than not, she'd leave in a whirlwind of professional disgust. Once she even told him he was an "ill-tempered, egomaniacal fruitcake with delusions of adequacy!" He liked the insult so much that he rushed to write it down once she was gone.

Drakken was beginning to enjoy her visits. He was beginning to...like her. It wasn't anything like love, however. He just liked her as a friend. He hadn't had a friend in a very long time. He had come to accept his existence as one of isolation, but along came Yvonne Turance and she understood him. And she was feisty, like Shego. Argument had pretty much been the basis of his relationship with Shego. They'd both loved to argue and they'd both had hair-trigger tempers, so it had been a perfect match.

Well, not the kind of match he would have preferred, but a match nonetheless.

Despite her professional standing, Yvonne Turance was turning out to be quite similar. Now that she'd gotten to know Drakken a bit, she was showing her personal side. Bottom line: she had quite the temper herself, and she loved to argue. Not childish arguments, though. Drakken was no longer as childish as he had once been. He was now more thoughtful, wittier, and to-the-point. Yvonne seemed the same. Their arguments were built upon clever wordplay, deep sarcasm, and wry observations. Argument became a game.

But she was still his therapist, and Drakken knew it was her duty to draw out his negative feelings and help him overcome them. It was just her technique that changed. She became more aggressive after she saw how he lit up like a Christmas tree during any kind of bickering—and he noticed how she lit up almost as much as he did.

Soon he was anticipating his sessions with her, cleaning up the house before she'd come, fixing snack trays and drinks, thinking up funny stories from his past to tell her—after all, he'd done some awfully outrageous things, many of which were funny to him now, like the time he'd summoned every blasted henchman in his lair just to try to open a stubborn pickle jar. Only Shego had been able to open it. All those big burly men had struggled with that damned lid and _pop!_ she'd twisted it free as if it was a kiddie toy. _Good ol' Shego,_ he thought, briefly wondering, for the millionth time, where she was and how she was doing. _Forget it,_ he told himself, and pushed the nostalgia aside. _That's ancient history. That was then, this is now._

Now was Tuesday, two minutes to three. Yvonne was due to arrive any second. She was never late. Drakken had put on his best shirt and jeans, but he remained barefoot. It was hot outside, and his air conditioner wasn't the best. He would have liked to open the sliding glass door, but only hot air would come in, turning the place into a little oven—he'd made that mistake too many times already. So he had put out two little fans, set them on high in the living room, and then proceeded to wait.

She ran the bell exactly at three. He stood inside the door until she used her special GJ issued Laser-Lockit—another of his own inventions swiped by Dr. Director—to open the electronic lock. She entered, and they began the game.

But this time there was something even more different about Yvonne. Drakken sensed a tension in her that seemed almost like...anticipation? She kept looking at her watch, for one thing, and she declined to take one of the PB stickies he'd made especially for her. Even her mind seemed to wander a bit, which was very out of character for her.

He was about to ask her if something was wrong when she scooted forward a little in her chair. "Drew, I want to ask you something."

"Really?" he snipped. "Gee, that's a switch." He meant it as a joke. _I mean, all she does is ask me questions!_ he thought.

But she didn't laugh. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked him.

He just looked at her.

She looked evenly back at him. "Well? It's a legitimate question. Answer."

He wanted to say, "Sure I've been in love before, lots of times—but with pretty girls who never gave me a second glance. My many many affairs weren't just fleeting, they usually lasted about eight to twelve seconds." Beyond that, Drakken had nothing to say. Turance already knew about Shego and how he felt about her. She also knew that he would refuse to talk about Shego should her name come up.

So he tried to evade the question, saying, "What exactly do you mean by love? I mean, there's brotherly or sisterly love, there's _love_-love, there are crushes, there's lust—"

"I'm talking lust." And she continued to stare at him.

Again, Drakken just looked back at her. He suddenly felt hot, and it had nothing to do with the weather outside. He realized that Dr. Yvonne Turance wasn't just staring at him, she was staring at him with open interest. She was practically burning through him with her eyes, wide and lit with an inner fire.

_Holy crap, she's talking about me!_ Drakken thought. He was no expert in these things, but that light in her eyes was lust, he could figure that out easily enough. As his heart began to pound he stared back at her, completely unaware that he was giving her the exact same look. _She wants me. A flesh and blood woman actually wants me!_ And he realized that he wanted her. Oh god, did he want her. How stupid he'd been these past few weeks! Their arguments had been much more than psych sessions. He and his GJ therapist had been engaged in verbal foreplay, a stylized back-and-forth that had created a fierce energy between them. He'd been totally unaware of it, but now it was so obvious!

Both of them stood up, eyes locked. Each took a step toward the other. The living room was so small that those two steps brought them together.

Their first kiss wasn't soft and loving. They both instinctively knew there was no love involved here. This was lust, and Drakken finally knew what it felt like to crave a woman's flesh. Oh, the concept wasn't new to him—he had fantasies like any other man—but this time he had a real live woman in his arms. He was in a position to fulfill his desires without the use of a Hustler magazine. His kiss started tentatively, but when Yvonne threw herself at him and literally knocked him back on the couch, a button went off inside of him. A knot loosened, a gate opened. He embraced her, threading his fingers roughly into her hair, and pulled her down, kissing her with an urgent passion he didn't know he could ever possess let alone display.

She made a happy moaning sound and pulled the rubber band from his ponytail, roughly mussing his long hair up until he looked like a rumpled version of his cousin Eddie. "You think you're not attractive," she murmured between frantic kisses. "That's not true. You're the most exotic man I've ever seen."

Drakken did not compliment her back. He didn't know what to say. "I love you," did not apply. "I want to jump you" applied but just seemed crass. "You're exotic, too" wasn't true. She was pretty, oh yes, but exotic? No. So he just kept kissing her, lost in feelings he'd never felt before and ignoring the fact that the word "exotic" didn't exactly mean "good looking." What the hell. He wasn't in a position to be picky.

Then he suddenly remembered that his entire house was bugged. _What the hell am I doing?!_

Yvonne sat up straight, still straddling his prone body, and began unbuttoning her blouse. "I diverted the surveillance system's programming," she said, reading his expression. "It will give us privacy for about 10 minutes. That's all the time we can risk. Are you _up_ for it?" With that, she reached down and massaged his crotch, squeezing all the required parts playfully.

Drakken jumped at the touch, first in automatic embarrassment and then with utter physical bliss. He was up for it, all right. Yvonne smiled. "My watch alarm will go off two minutes before the system comes back online."

The next eight minutes passed in a blur that probably would have looked amusing to anyone watching. So much to do, so little time, was the motto of the moment. Many pleasurable activities were pushed aside to get to the meat of the matter, so to speak, and as he performed his role in this unexpected drama, a small portion of Drakken's mind seriously wondered if he'd finally lost his mind. It was like finding yourself in a fast-forward porn movie. Thank god he was so excited by the whole situation that he quickly came in Yvonne with a strangled cry of pleasure. She answered with her own squeals, and the two of them had just enough time to tidy their clothes and hair before the surveillance system came back on.

Drakken sat on his couch, flushed but hoping he looked flushed from anger and not the release of nearly twenty years' pent-up urges. He planted his usual scowl on his face, but it was extremely hard to do so while facing Yvonne Turance sitting on her chair, her expression forcefully neutral but her eyes glittering with fulfillment and—Drakken could think of no other term for it—the singular thrill of blatant naughtiness.

_Dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?_ Drakken thought.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: An Unexpected Visit

Time: about two months later

A year of working as a Global Justice intern had changed Kim Possible. She was still the boisterous crime fighter she had always been, still earnest in her efforts and strong in her convictions. But now she was experienced in the ways of bureaucracy—not something that actually interested her, but she knew she had to learn these things in order to forge a future career.

She was soon to start college, her major being International Relations. She wasn't yet sure what to do about her crime fighting activities. Ron had stayed by her side during the year at GJ, and now he was ready to start classes at Lowerton Community College while she attended Upperton University. She wished they could attend the same college, but facts were facts—Ron was a great guy, but academics were not his strong suit. Secretly Kim had been relieved that _any_ college would accept him. His major? The culinary arts. He had no clear plan for his future either, but he decided it had to be something to do with food. Kim hoped he didn't want to take over Bueno Nacho, but even if he did, she would stand by his side. It would take more than his hopeless naco fetish to break them up.

In fact, they were sitting in the local Bueno Nacho restaurant right now, munching goodies and talking about their future together. "Yeah, fightin' bad guys is cool, KP," Ron said between bites of his naco, "but I'm glad you don't want to make a lifetime career out of it."

"I may stay in the game to some degree," Kim told him, and she sipped her cola. "I'm not sure yet. I mean, it's all I've ever done outside school work. All we've ever done."

"Ah-ah-ah! Speak for yourself, KP. I was a football star."

"Very true, Ron, but I don't think one year as a Mystical Monkey quarterback is going to earn you a living for the rest of your life." Kim stabbed at her salad with a plastic spork. "Besides, you really do have talent in a kitchen."

"HA! So you did like my Hot Taco Stroganoff!"

Kim carefully swallowed her mouthful of salad. Several days before, Ron had offered to make dinner for her entire family to show off a recipe he'd concocted: Hot Taco Stroganoff. Of course, he didn't tell anyone ahead of time what the main course was, so when he presented the dish, the smell alone made the Possible family's eyes water. "It wasn't bad," Kim said. "I told you that. It was just..."

"Just?" Ron prompted.

"An interesting combination of international flavors." Kim smiled at him. "Unique, just like you are."

"Tasty?"

"...In its own way."

"See, Rufus? I knew she liked it." Ron grinned and stuffed an entire naco into his mouth in one enormous gulp.

"Hey!" Rufus grumbled. The little rodent had just been about to tunnel into it for the cheese.

"Oops! Sorry buddy," said Ron. "Let's go get another one, okay?"

"Uh-huh!" Rufus agreed, and he hopped onto Ron's shoulder as the young man got up. "Be back in a sec, KP."

"Okay." Kim continued to eat her salad, dreaming of the future, when someone sat down in Ron's place. It wasn't Ron.

"Shego!" Kim said in surprise, spitting salad everywhere.

"Cut the spray, Princess," Shego growled. The villainess wasn't dressed in her usual green-and-black catsuit. She was wearing jeans and a blouse, and her long black mane was braided. "Look, I need to talk to you," she said, plucking a piece of spinach out of her bangs. "I figured I'd find you here since you weren't at home."

Kim tensed. "Shego, it's been an awfully long time. What do you want?"

"I have information about...what happened to Drakken," Shego said. "Meet me at nine tonight on Mount Middleton Road near the hairpin turn. You know, where the secret entrance of our Middleton lair used to be." Shego got up. "This is important, Princess. Be there."

Before Kim could say anything, Shego slipped away, moving fast and smooth.

"Here we are, one hot naco for the naked mole rat!" Ron said when he returned. He set the paper plate on the table and sat down. Rufus jumped off his shoulder and immediately dove into the naco, eating his way through the center, his little pink tail wagging happily like a dog's.

"Ron."

He smiled at Kim. "Yeah, KP?"

"Shego was just here."

Ron tensed and tried to look in all directions at once. "What? Shego? Here? After all this time?"

"She's found something out and wants to meet with us tonight."

Ron swallowed. "You mean, she's found something out about..." He lowered his voice. "...Drakken?"

"Yeah." Kim frowned. "I don't think she knows he's alive, but she's learned _something._ Maybe she's finally got a lead on whoever was behind the attacks."

Ron thought a moment. "Shouldn't we tell Dr. Director?"

Kim shook her head. "We're not GJ interns anymore. We can pursue this our own way. Ron, the look on Shego's face was almost scary. I think we need to hear her out and then decide what to do."

Rufus emerged from the far end of the naco, his little pink cheeks smeared with refried beans and a happy smile on his face. "BUUURRP!" he said, and fell over with a blissful smile, his belly as fat as a walnut.

Ron pushed the plate aside to give Rufus more room to sprawl. "So she really has been looking all this time. I guess that's a good thing since GJ's come up with nada on top of nada."

"I guess," Kim said. "I just wonder what she's found..."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Broken Bubble

Time: the same day

Drakken hummed as he busily worked in his little kitchen. It was Thursday, an Yvonne day. He was making peanut butter cookies. Yvonne liked traditional peanut butter cookies better than PB stickies—he thought she was just being picky, but whatever—so he was making her some. He smiled as he slid a tray of raw cookies into the oven, each little blob of dough carefully set in its neat little row. He smiled as he went to the sink to wash up.

He smiled because they hadn't had sex for two sessions now, which meant they would probably have sex today. Drakken never knew when it would happen. It all depended on whether Yvonne had a chance to mess with the surveillance system. She was careful about it, never creating any kind of pattern and always making sure that the system would play back an appropriate piece of an earlier session to fool the GJ monitoring team for ten minutes or so. Drakken had no idea how she managed this feat. Whatever and however she did it, it was working, and he admired her boldness. He also admired her computer know-how. She was intelligent and clever, and it totally turned him on.

Their relationship hadn't changed much. There was no way it _could_ change, really. Under the circumstances, the randy couple grabbed what pleasures they could in the short time afforded them. Otherwise Yvonne did her job, drawing out Drakken's feelings about his life and especially his attacks, trying to help mend the wounds in his soul.

He appreciated her counsel, but he liked the sex better.

For one thing, he was learning a lot. Much to his embarrassment, he wasn't so savvy on the subject of women and how to pleasure them. Not to say he had been a virgin before Yvonne. Despite the rumors Shego had started about his total lack of experience in that department (along with some rumors she'd started for fun about him being gay), Drakken had lost his virginity right after leaving college. Emotionally torn up after being laughed off campus by his so-called posse, he had turned to several professional ladies to help him forget—and work off—his fury and embarrassment. It helped bolster his self-esteem, too, which had deflated like a popped balloon. Later on, he had frequented clubs to ease the loneliness and frustration that came with being the new young supervillain on the block.

But the women he'd met had never pursued him. They'd never called him back. He'd wondered about it for a long time. Was he somehow annoying or repulsive? Did he suck in bed? Or worse, was he was just dull? He never found out then and he still didn't know now, just as he still didn't know why he'd been a failure at most other social endeavors during his life.

But today he didn't care. At least one woman out there thought he was something special, and that knowledge made him feel better about himself than he had in a long time.

The timer dinged. The cookies were done. Wearing a pair of old Mickey-Mouse-faced oven mitts that had already been stained with chocolate when he got them, Drakken pulled the cooking sheet out of the oven and placed each cookie on a cooling rack. Then he checked the wall clock: a quarter to three. He threw off the mitts, grabbed his cane and went downstairs to his bedroom to change. He had bought a new shirt at the Salvation Army store that week—a really nice one that actually fit—and he'd saved up his meager earnings to buy a pair of actual brand new jeans. Putting those on made him feel like a million bucks, which in turn only reminded him of how shabby he must have normally looked. _Thanks, Betty,_ he thought of Dr. Director and her meager paychecks.

He quickly shaved, thankful that his beard didn't grow at all as fast as his hair did. He didn't understood why, but he was happy for the phenomenon. He hated to shave. Then he reached back to pull off the band that kept his hair in its trademark ponytail. He wanted his hair loose for the session—Yvonne liked it that way.

Then he halted his hand, deciding it was better to leave his hair as it was. No details should change at this point. To protect their secret, he had to remember not to do anything different than before. Everything had to appear normal...or as normal as anything in his life ever was.

Two minutes to three. Drakken lumbered up the stairs and stood at the front door, waiting for the bell to ring.

One minute to three.

He suddenly remembered to tuck in his shirt. When that was done, it was three o'clock. He listened for her knock.

No knock came.

Drakken blinked.

One minute after three. Still no knock.

Drakken began to wonder if Yvonne might have had an accident or something when the big GJ monitor screen in the living room lit up to show the face of Dr. Director sitting in her office. "Mr. Lipsky," she said in her clipped, official voice.

"Yes," he replied. "Where is Dr. Turance? She's never been late before."

"I'm afraid that Dr. Turance is no longer in the employ of Global Justice." She paused. "I think you know why."

Drakken blanched, not only because the news was a terrible blow but because he was mortified to realize that somebody at GJ, probably Dr. Director herself, had somehow seen what the cameras weren't supposed to have caught. He wanted to crawl into a hole in embarrassment, but he managed to stand still.

"As for punishment..." Dr. Director continued.

Drakken didn't hear what she had to say after that. His mind seemed to explode at the word "punishment." He'd never considered that aspect before! Punishment! Oh god, what was she going to do to him? He'd gotten so wrapped up in the lovely feelings of belonging and fulfillment that he had totally disregarded the consequences of getting caught. _Stupid fool!_ he shouted to himself, balling his fists. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"Mr. Lipsky? Drew? Dr. Drakken!"

"Whu? Huh?" Drakken said, shaken out of his thoughts.

Dr. Director frowned at him. "Have you heard a single word I've said?"

"Uh...yeah," he answered. "I mean, er, yes. Ma'am. You caught us." He fidgeted nervously. "So...I guess that's that, huh?"

"No, that is not that, Mr. Lipsky. Dr. Turance has been fired," Dr. Director repeated. "She has also been advised to move to another part of the country. Given that you are a world class criminal, and given that her involvement with you technically constitutes a breach of national security—"

Now Drakken felt fear, not for himself but for Yvonne. "Oh, you can't be serious! You know it was nothing like that! We just—"

"Broke about two dozen state and federal laws that could have caused considerable damage to the reputation of Global Justice and landed you both in jail for the rest of this century!"

At the word "jail," Drakken took a step back. "Y...you're not sending me...you can't, you, you wouldn't..." He broke out in a cold sweat.

"Relax, Mr. Lipsky. You will be coming out of this relatively unscathed."

Drakken practically fainted with relief.

"Only for one reason." Dr. Director made him wait for it. "Only because Dr. Turance signed papers releasing you of all culpability. She insists that she seduced you, and that any man in your position would have had a hard time saying no. After thinking it over, I chose to accept her statements, although I find the entire affair unworthy of you." She gave Drakken a hard stare. "We made a deal, Mr. Lipsky. I gave you my trust when there was very little reason for me to do so. I find this no small disappointment."

"I...I understand," Drakken said slowly, quietly. "But look—I'm not one of my synthodrones. I can't just turn off being a human being. I made a dumb mistake, but I challenge you to put yourself in my place and do otherwise."

Dr. Director regarded Drakken with surprise. He had never spoken to her with such straight-forward bluntness before. Drakken himself was surprised that he'd dared to open his mouth. But now that he'd spoken the truth, he decided to stick with it.

"Well." The head of Global Justice took a deep breath. "I will consider your words and let you know how this will play out. In the meantime, you will suffer no punishment. I suspect you'll punish yourself more than I ever could." She logged off.

Minutes ticked by. Drakken just stood there, staring with huge eyes at the monitor, trying to sift through the horrible details of what had just happened. Then his body sagged and he staggered back, fortunately straight into the chair that Yvonne herself used for their sessions. He sat down hard, clutching his cane in one hand, his other hand automatically rubbing his injured knee. Tears welled in his eyes—not tears of embarrassment but tears of guilt. _I'm sorry, Yvonne,_ he thought. _I should have known better. I should have been strong enough to put a stop to it. I mean, it couldn't have gone on forever anyway. We both knew that. You chose to give me something special, and now you're paying the price. It's not fair. _He began to weep. _I'm sorry, Yvonne!_

Drakken sat there for some time, mourning Yvonne's fate and beating himself with his own guilt. Slowly, though, his thoughts turned to the Diablo scheme of long ago. If only it had worked out, none of this would have happened. If only he were ruling the world right now with Shego at his side, everything would be all right. She would no longer be his sidekick but his equal. Maybe even more than that...

It was what he'd really wanted, though Shego never knew it. He had started his evil career wanting the world for himself, but after he met her, he wanted the world so he could give it to her. _Why did you abandon me, Shego? Did you hate me that much? If so, then why did you stay with me at all? Why did you make me fall in love with you?_ He closed his teary eyes. _Why can't I ever find happiness? What's wrong with me?_

Drakken slowly curled up in the chair and cried.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Hairpin Turn

Time: that night

By eight-thirty that night, Kim and Ron were riding Ron's junky scooter up Mount Middleton Road. The road was steep, and the scooter's normally happy little _putt-putt!_ sounded more like _gasp-wheeze!_ But if Kim had asked to borrow the family car, she would have had to tell her parents the truth—that she was meeting Shego. Mr. and Mrs. Possible had spent the last year feeling very good that their daughter, though perfectly capable of handling herself, no longer had to deal with Drakken and Shego. Kim didn't want to rile them up again.

Mr. Possible had been genuinely upset by the violent "death" of Drew Lipsky. As much as he'd hated Dr. Drakken, James couldn't simply erase his feelings for his old friend Drew who had roomed with him during their Freshman year at college. Drew, the idiot who once fell asleep on the toilet in the Chem building men's room because he'd stayed up all night studying for an exam that he then failed because he didn't wake up until ten minutes after it was over—and with a rear end so numb he walked like a duck for days after. Drew, who bragged too much, talked too loud and complained too easily, but who would do anything for a friend. Drew, who, upon seeing James' new date and future wife Anne for the first time, had whistled and said, "Woof! Now she's what I call a stack of hot pancakes!"

Kim knew that the subject of Drakken and Shego was a touchy one, especially for her dad, so that's why she was putt-putt-wheezing up Mount Middleton with Ron. The sun was only just setting even though it was so late.

"Y'know, KP, I already miss these long summer days," Ron said wistfully as they reached the hairpin turn.

Kim glanced up and caught sight of the last slice of fire-orange as it slipped down behind the mountaintop. "Don't worry, Ron. We've got a good month of them left."

Ron only frowned as he got off the bike, parked it, and followed Kim down a weedy gravel road as twilight descended. "But they're going to get shorter and shorter!" he lamented.

"Uh, yeah. That's kind of the way it's supposed to work."

"Well, I don't like it. Summer should last longer."

"A lot of things should last longer, buffoon," said Shego, stepping out from behind a boulder near the road. "Unfortunately, they don't."

Kim wasn't entirely surprised by Shego's sudden appearance, but Ron nearly jumped out of his socks. "YAAAAGH!" he yelled, "it's Shego!"

Kim sighed. "Yes, Ron. As in, the person we came here to meet?"

Ron calmed down. "Oh, right. So." He turned to Shego. "What's the deal?"

Shego was dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. Her black hair was still braided. She looked like she was off to steal jewels or something, except for her face. She wasn't wearing the expression of a predator like she normally did. Her face was a mask. She showed no emotion, and her eyes seemed dead as she stated simply, "I killed Drakken."

Kim had inhaled just when Shego began to speak. Now she found that she couldn't exhale. She just gawked at Shego, totally derailed. Only when the pain in her chest became too great did she give a loud exhale of stale air and whisper, "What did you say?"

"I killed Dr. D. What, do you want me to spell it out in sign language? Put it on a billboard? I! Killed! Dr! D!"

"Wait wait wait just a second." Kim waved her hands. "Not so loud."

"There's nobody around to hear, princess."

"I know, but—what did you say?"

Ron chimed in with equal confusion. "Hey, you tried to blame us for what happened to him, so how can you stand here now and say you're guilty of doing it?"

Shego opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. She just stood motionless, almost invisible in the growing gloom.

"Ron's got a point, Shego," Kim finally managed to say. "What are you up to?"

Shego shook her head. "Okay, ya know what? If you're not going to arrest me, I'll just go to Dr. Director and let her do it."

"Arrest you?" Kim blurted.

"Doy, princess. Aren't you listening to me?"

"Yes, but you're not making any sense."

"How would you know?"

At this point, Kim turned to Ron to find him staring at her. Shego didn't know that Drakken was alive. She thought, for some bizarre reason, that she was responsible for his "death." And now she apparently wanted to be arrested for it. And if they didn't tell her the truth, Shego would storm off to Global Justice. Who knows what Dr. Director would do? Kim and Ron exchanged all this information using only their eyes—and the final look in each of their eyes sealed an agreement between them.

Kim turned back to Shego and took a moment to compose herself. "Shego," she said carefully, "you didn't kill Drakken."

"Okay," Shego said, flinging up her hands, "I'm tired of this already. I hoped you'd do your hero thing and haul me in, but if you're not going to believe me—"

"Shego, you can't have killed him," said Ron.

Kim finished with, "Because Drakken isn't dead."

Shego's body trembled for a second or two, as if something deep inside her suddenly cracked. She tried to speak but couldn't.

"A prison guard saved him," Kim explained. "He was hurt but alive. Global Justice stepped in and took him for his own protection."

"Then...what..." Shego blinked, trying to process the news. "...where...?"

"Dr. Director fed the media a lie that Drakken was dead. It was the only way to prevent another attack. He ended up in a mental hospital."

Shego's eyes came alive with a fierce spark. "And you knew this all along?"

Kim and Ron both nodded. "But we couldn't tell you. We wanted to, Shego, but..." Kim trailed off. There was no real explanation she could give that Shego didn't already know. Being GJ Intern Agents at the time, and having signed documents afterwards swearing to hold all GJ information secret, they'd had no choice but to lie to the villainess. They were violating that agreement now and, technically, could be thrown in jail. Kim was desperately hoping that Shego still had some news that would prove helpful enough to prevent that outcome.

Shego's hands erupted in green flame. "I ought to kill you!"

Kim and Ron adopted defensive postures. "Don't attack, Shego! There's nothing to be gained and you know that!"

"You let me think he was dead all this time!"

"We had no choice!" Taking a chance, Kim straightened up and stood calmly. "What I don't understand is how you can think you killed him. What have you discovered?"

For a moment, Shego looked as if she still might still attack. Her plasma blazed bright green in the darkening evening, and her eyes blazed green with equal fury. Then she extinguished her Glow and, like Kim, slowly stood straight. "I want to see him."

"That's not possible."

"If you want to know what I've found out, princess, you'll make it possible. I'll only tell Drakken what I have to say, in person, to his face."

Kim shook her head. "Drakken can't have visitors. He's completely off limits."

"But if he's in some mental hospital—"

"He was for nine months, yes. Then GJ moved him to a secret location for his own safety. Officially, he doesn't exist. It's the only way to keep him alive."

"So he's not in a jail?"

"Not exactly."

Shego thought for a moment. Kim watched her closely, noticing even in the darkness that the face of the villainess was scrunched up as if she were in pain. Then Shego's features relaxed, and she looked Kim in the eye. "I have a proposition."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: As You Wish, Sir

Time: several days later

Evil laughter echoed in the huge cavernous room. "I've got it! I've got it! I've got _him!"_ Sir punched a button on the computer console on his large cluttered desk. "Get in here, now!" he barked into a hidden mic, then he leaned back in his padded leather chair and laced his fingers behind his head, grinning a very ugly grin, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with evil. "Ha ha, he'll never see it coming!"

Someone knocked with soft delicacy on the door.

"Come!"

Personal Assistant glided in. "You wish to see me, Sir?"

Sir spun around in his chair. "The plan is complete. Everything is in place. I want you to inform Salestri and Marco, and make sure the GJ tap is secure. Monitor it personally, do you hear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I can afford no screw-ups! I want regular reports no matter how routine the conversations may be. Begin preparations on the van, and organize a staff to be ready at the warehouse."

"If I may inquire, Sir..." Personal Assistant let his words hang, knowing that he was forbidden to ask a question like this unless Sir specifically allowed it.

"Yes yes, what is it?" the old man asked.

Personal Assistant acknowledged the generosity of his employer with a slight nod. "Would it not be easier to simply bomb the sight from the sky, Sir? There is no need to—"

"NO NEED?" Sir thundered, his entire demeanor switching from happy to furious in that split second. "NO NEED? I have tolerated that bumbling oaf for how long?"

Personal Assistant stiffened. "I apologize, Sir—"

"He's slipped through my grasp how many times?" Sir raged on. "He's ruined my dreams, dashed my hopes, destroyed my chance for ultimate victory, and you say there's no need?" Sir struggled to his feet, his physique shaky but his body strengthened by the power of the hot hatred coursing through his veins. "There is more than a need!" he shouted, stabbing a finger at Personal Assistant. "This is my right! And to make sure nothing goes wrong, I'm going to tend to it myself, is that understood?" He calmed down and sat again. "Now get out of my sight."

"Yes, Sir," Personal Assistant said, backing his way to the door. "As you wish, Sir."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Twilight Zone

_Author's Note: Up till now I've limited each chapter to one POV, or I've made clean delineations between POV changes. This chapter, however, contains multiple POVs and even the thoughts of multiple characters. I decided to do this because so much is going on and it's too much fun to see everybody's reactions._

Time: two weeks later

Drakken's torrid affair with Dr. Turance had been over for several weeks now.

He felt the loss keenly. For the first time in his life, he had felt like a whole human being, a man in every sense of the word. He had experienced a kind of fulfillment that he had never known. He wondered if this was what happily married men felt like. Whatever it was, it was wonderful, and he dared to think that there might be meaning in his life after all.

Every stolen moment with Yvonne had been a frenzy of passion that had no reason or explanation. Both of them simply worshipped each other, and it provided Drakken with a kind of validation that grounded his otherwise flighty disposition. Yvonne showed him that he was worth something, not because of what he could do or say but because he simply _existed_ as a fellow person. He wasn't a freak or a loser—he was a man who needed kindness and who could give and receive that kindness like any other man. Such an idea would probably never occur to most men—they would take it for granted or simply not think about something so obvious. But for Drakken, it was a revelation.

His guilt over Yvonne's fate still plagued him. He cared about her, and he missed her. Sure he missed the sex, but he truly missed _her._

He was alone again.

Alone.

It was a state of being that was becoming pure torment. Yvonne's attentions had given him hope in a life without hope. Now that hope was gone, and his aloneness was doubly pronounced. He lived in peace, true, but that peace was so damned peaceful that it became annoying. He was so tired of his own dull company, his own worn out thoughts, his own miserable disappointing painful memories. He wanted to hate himself, but he knew he'd only feel worse if he let himself go down that road.

So, through brute stubbornness, Drakken attempted to live as well as he could. He worked hard on his GJ assignments. He devised an exercise program that took into account the limitations of his knee. He became a vegetarian, more or less, not because he wanted to but because Dr. Director cut his already laughably low paycheck in half—his punishment for fooling around with Yvonne.

He was beyond poor now. At least he'd already bought most household items he needed. Food became the big expense. Meat was out of the question, simply too expensive. Even chicken was a stretch. He got used to it. He tried to be more creative at cooking, even with the crummy pots and pans he had to work with. He decided to grow herbs in pots on his balcony, and he planned to start a vegetable garden as soon as he could afford the seeds, soil and large pots it would require. He discovered that with a proper marinade, tofu could actually taste like something. He began to look forward to a spinach salad for lunch. He drank only water. Cocoa moo became a treasured treat.

Life wasn't what it once was for Drew Theodore P. Lipsky, but he hoped that over time it would become tolerable.

And then _she_ showed up.

Before that moment occurred, he was in Lab B, the bedroom that GJ had converted into something that resembled a small laboratory. They'd at least been kind enough to furnish it with a long sturdy work table and a good ergonomic chair—the only decent furniture in the house. Lab A, Drakken's own bedroom, was divided in half—his side with his ratty bed and his little closet with his clothes, and the storage side with homemade shelf units from floor to ceiling that he had stuffed with various supplies and equipment. The floor on that side of the room was a dangerous place, littered with coiled computer cords, boxes of beakers, electrical wires, tools—whatever Drakken couldn't fit on the shelves.

He was working at the Lab B table when he heard the familiar bing that signaled a call from GJ. He left Lab B and climbed up the stairs to see Dr. Director's face on the living room monitor.

"Drew," Dr. Director greeted curtly.

"Betty," he greeted her back.

She had started calling him Drew ever since his affair with Yvonne. Maybe it was part of his punishment, too, because she knew he hated his real name. So Drakken had retaliated by calling her Betty. She had ordered him to stop, but he had refused. She responded by cutting off his access to The Science Channel. He responded by not complaining, something she would never have expected of him. He never commented on it, just acted like nothing was amiss. After several days of this, Dr. Director restored the channel without a word.

Such a tiny victory had tasted sweeter than honey to Drakken.

Dr. Director frowned at him. "Drew," she drawled back. "You're going to have visitors today."

One side of his monobrow quirked up. "Somebody finally taking Wilker's place?" he asked, referring to one of his GJ handlers who showed up now and then to check on his activities firsthand. "He has a hygiene problem, you know. The man must shower once a month. It's disgusting."

"Well, never fear. I've assigned a new man, Agent Wabach. He's completed training on your unique situation. I want you to meet him as soon as possible, so he'll be stopping by this evening after your visitors have gone. Tomorrow he'll begin the rotation schedule with Grymes."

Drakken made a face. "Grymes isn't much better than Wilkers. He has halitosis, I'd bet my paycheck on it." Drakken caught himself and looked at Dr. Director through slitted eyes. "I take that back."

Dr. Director almost smiled. "Understood. Well, in any case, make yourself presentable. Your visitors will be at your door in a few minutes." She paused and allowed a slight grimace to twist her pretty features. "And yes, you're right about both Wilkers and Grymes." She cut transmission before Drakken could respond.

He glanced down at his filthy hands. He'd been fiddling with a rocket engine part that simply defied repair, and he was covered with grease. "Gee, thanks for the warning, Betty." He hurried downstairs to the bathroom and used special soap to get the grease off. He barely finished, took off his work shirt—oh, how he missed his lovely blue lab coat!—and selected a clean one before the doorbell rang.

He grabbed his cane and hobbled back upstairs. The doorbell rang again and he grumbled, "Hold your horses!"

Whoever was outside activated a Laser-Lockit. _Ka-click!_ and the door opened. After it swung wide, a moment passed before Drakken could find his voice. "…Possible and…and…the buffoon!"

Ron grinned. "I see that some things never change, eh, Doc? It's been a long time, but I know you know my name."

"You'll always be a buffoon to me, so deal." Drakken limped out of the entranceway so that they could come in. "And I'm used to Drew now, not that I like it. Stupid name, past tense of the verb _to draw_. What kind of stamp is that to put on a kid anyway?"

Kim and Ron stepped into the house as Drakken continued to grumble about his name. They couldn't help but gaze around with interest. The place was clean and well decorated, though they both knew the constraints that Drakken lived under. He'd obviously gotten creative with found objects because his little coffee table held a very pretty pinecone-and-twig arrangement, and his walls were spotted with unusual arrangements of pine and oak wreaths. One wall held a cleverly designed hanging waterfall made from what looked like mis-matched garage-sale cups. A small aquarium pump kept a trickle of water moving, and the cups caught and released the water in cheery burbles.

What really caught Kim's eye were several sets of real birds' wings that must have been cut from the birds' bodies and dried spread out so that they looked like angels' wings. She recognized those of a woodpecker, a raven, a pigeon and a chickadee. Kim hoped that Drakken had found the birds already dead. She figured that had to be the case—GJ watched him too closely. And deep inside she knew that Drew Lipsky would never outright kill an animal. Ransom a city, yes. Kill an innocent tweety-birdie? No. The fact that he had dried the wings that way was sort of creepy, but she had to admit that they were also beautiful.

When Kim looked back to Drakken, she found him staring at her. "Plain clothes. Left GJ, I see," Drakken noted. "Finally quit the superhero cheerleader biz?"

"College," Kim answered curtly. "I'm focused on the future now. But Ron and I still take a job or two, like this one."

"And what job is this one, may I ask?" Drakken gestured at the couch. "Sit down if you want. It's ugly but surprisingly comfy."

The two heroes chose to remain standing. "I think _you_ might want to sit, Drakken," Kim told him.

Before he could ask why, a third figure emerged from the dark entryway. Drakken gasped. "…Shego?"

She just stared at him as if she were seeing a ghost.

Drakken felt dizzy as he drank in the sight of her. She was as beautiful as ever, dressed in black jeans and a green shirt. Her hair was a bit shorter than he remembered it, but it was still as black as midnight. Something stirred in his heart. He beat it down. "Shego," he repeated, not knowing what else to say.

She finally moved. She took one step into the living room, clutching a small handbag as if it were some kind of lifeline. She visibly swallowed, looking like something had been caught in her throat and she'd managed to force it down just before choking.

Silently she studied her former employer. The last year had definitely changed him. He leaned on a cane even though his body looked to her to be more muscular and toned than ever before. His skin was still blue, his hair still black though with a few streaks of grey here and there, especially at the temples. He still wore that stupid ponytail but it was much longer, nearly halfway down his back, and strands of it stuck out at weird angles as if defying him to make them lay smooth. He was her Dr. D, alive and well, not sprawled dead across a prison cell cot. She could almost picture him in his blue lab coat, black boots and black gloves, tromping around with his arms waving wildly as he bellowed out his latest foolproof plan.

She felt home again.

Yet something bothered her, and it took her some moments to identify it. The evilly delightful light in his eyes—it wasn't there anymore. That wonderful flicker of madness, just enough madness that had made him interesting and dangerous and…well, a mad scientist. It was gone. What she saw now in his laser-like stare was pain, distrust, and a weariness that made her immediately sad. His ever-optimistic zest for life, which she had always found invigorating, seemed burned out.

And then suddenly the old mad light flared up out of nowhere. His eyes went wide and, moving more quickly than any of them had ever seen him move before, he swung his cane at Shego like a club.

Shego dropped her handbag and caught the cane in a strong fist just before it struck her skull. "What the hell!" she cried in surprise.

"YOU LEFT ME!" Drakken shrieked at her. "You were supposed to break me out, but you left me in prison to DIE!"

Shego's fists flared green and she crouched as if to spring. Kim jumped in front of her, grabbing the cane before Shego's plasma could disintegrate it. "Shego, no!"

The green woman let her Glow fade and she straightened, glaring at Drakken.

He glared back at her. "Get out of my house!"

Now it was Ron's turn. He stepped in front of Drakken, knowing full well that it might not be the wisest of moves. But Drakken had never hurt Ron. In fact, during their dueling days, the two had found several points of similarity, particularly the peaceful philosophy of good old Snowman Hank. Ron hoped that memory might diffuse the blue man's fury. "Drew—" he began.

With an audible growl, Drakken straightened the slight slouch in his back, growing taller right in front of Ron as if he were some kind of inflatable madman.

Ron wanted to cringe and back off. He'd never been _afraid_ of Drakken before. The man was glowering down at him, teeth bared as if he were going to rip into his jugular. "Don't call me Drew!" Drakken roared, contradicting the offer he'd made only seconds earlier. "Just get out of my house! I didn't ask you here! I don't want you here! I was doing fine before you brought—" He jabbed a shaking finger at Shego, and what sounded curiously like a strangled sob escaped him. "She's no longer a part of my life! None of you are! Leave me alone!"

Shego yanked the cane out of Kim's grip and threw it across the room, knocking the nice pinecone-and-twig arrangement off the coffee table and sending the fireplace tools scattering across the floor with a metallic crash. "No!" she snapped. "I came here to tell you something, Dr. D, and I'm damned well going to tell you!"

He sneered at her. "What could you possibly have to tell me, Shego? Any apology is way too late!"

"Look, Doc, I've spent nearly every day of the last year thinking about you, okay?" Shego said, stalking up to him. Normally he would have backed away from her, but Drakken stood his ground. Kim was amazed to see none of his past false bravado in his stance, either. He truly wasn't scared of Shego anymore. He was angry, and there was a solidity to him that made Kim suspect that he might be a lot more sturdy on his feet than the cane suggested.

"You thought about me?" Drakken growled. "My, how touching! Fat lotta good it did me! You sat around thinking after I got the holy shit kicked out of me because of you! I paid you to protect me, and I paid you good money! But when the chips were down, you weren't worth a penny, Shego!"

"You were never in one place longer than thirty seconds and you know it!" Shego railed. "Don't you dare accuse me of not looking for you! I hauled my butt across the country at least ten times! I partnered with Brotherson, for crap's sake! And then I heard the reports that you'd been murdered! What did you think I was going to do, continue looking?"

Her words made Drakken blink several times, as if the information hit him like a sand-filled wind. His expression shifted to one of suspicion. "Murdered?" he said slowly. "Explain."

"Uh, I'll do that," Kim broke in. She had hoped this particular detail wouldn't be brought up, but Dr. Director had given Kim and Ron permission to explain it all to Drakken if necessary. Shego just made it necessary. "Drew," she began. "Drakken…after the, uh…third attack, Global Justice stepped in. To protect you, Dr. Director told the press that you'd been killed. Then she arranged to bring you here, after your stay in the mental hospital."

Drakken wanted to faint. _I'm dead. I've been dead all this time. And the world just went on, unaffected. I made no difference, I made no splash, left no mark, nothing. I'm…nothing._ He said none of this out loud, but Kim detected the sentiment in his face.

"They saved you," she told him, trying to soften the blow.

"Fine," he said quietly. "You've delivered your news. Now go."

"Not yet," Shego said, her voice unsteady. That made Drakken as well as Kim and Ron look at her. Shego hadn't told the young heroes exactly what it was she wanted to tell Drakken, only that it was important. They watched the two ex-villains face off, Shego now looking hesitant, even awkward, while Drakken looked pale and shaken. "I have to tell you what I did…"

Drakken crossed his arms. "Besides leave me for the wolves?"

"I…I led those wolves to you, Dr. D."

Now Kim's and Ron's eyes grew big like Drakken's. "What do you mean?" Kim asked the villainess.

She directed her answer to Drakken. "We were both in Middleton jail, but I got out. I tried to get you out, too, but they moved you right away and kept moving you around. I thought it was because they knew I would try to free you..."

How could Drakken forget the prison shifting he had endured after Shego's escape? He had been gleeful at the prospect of getting out, but in mere hours he'd found himself in a helicopter with armed escort heading out of Middleton for New Mexico. He was there for only a few days before they moved him to Utah, and then a few days before they moved him back to Colorado. He was always moved via a different transport method, mostly at night but once in plain daylight.

Shego was still talking. "To find you, I needed money, y'know? So I put the word out. Right away some rich guy contacted me." Tears appeared in her eyes. "Just a one-time thing for some cash, y'know? All I did was deliver a message to some mucky muck who worked in the Denver correctional system. I didn't even know what the message meant. A week later, you were stabbed."

Denver. Stabbed. Drakken suddenly felt as if he was deflating, hoping to god that what she was telling him wasn't really what she was telling him.

"I didn't make the connection, Dr. D., I swear. I went to go get you, since the news finally told me where you were, but they'd moved you again. A while later, the rich guy contacted me for another messenger job. Same thing, but this time—"

"To someone affiliated with the Washington state prison system," Drakken finished in a hoarse whisper. "That's where I ended up after a few more moves, in Olympia…"

"And the second attack happened there," Ron said. "The beating…"

"And then…" Shego began to cry. She covered her face with her hands as she repeated, "And then…Alabama..."

Drakken turned away, fingers gripping the edge of the couch, and bowed his head. She _was_ telling him what he'd hoped she wasn't telling him. He felt as if little chunks of reality were dropping away, as if his life was a puzzle losing pieces, revealing more and more of a horrible black void beyond each piece, and he was going to fall into it, trapped in an endless mad slice of The Twilight Zone. It became hard to breathe. His brain went numb, all facts and figures, all of the genius he possessed, paralyzed except for Shego's tale.

"Enough," he croaked. "I don't want to hear anymore."

Shego grabbed his arm. "Dr. D, I didn't know it was about you! I had no idea! It was just work! I didn't put it together until only a couple weeks ago, and then it just hit me out of the blue—the dates, the places, the timing. You have to believe me, I didn't know! They were just jobs, just stupid jobs!"

Reality wasn't strong enough to hold him anymore. Drakken's legs folded until he was sitting on the floor, staring ahead at nothing, his face a blank. Even the sharp pain in his injured knee seemed miles away. He felt so lost that he would have questioned his very existence if Shego's warm hand hadn't been clasping his arm.

And then she let go. She stood and sobbed while Kim and Ron exchanged horrified looks. This was not what they had expected Shego's news to be. Kim wasn't sure what she had expected, but this was far far from it.

Shego knelt next to Drakken. "When the third attack happened…it was so awful…and the news said you were dead...I thought I'd killed you, Dr. D, that it was my fault something like that happened to you. I felt like I was in Hell."

"I know what that's like," was all he said, still staring blankly ahead.

"I'm sorry!" Shego cried, her sobs full of such misery that Kim wasn't sure who to feel sorrier for, her or Drakken. He looked like a corpse just sitting there, his eyes wide and empty, his normally blue face now ashen grey. Shego, her cheeks streaming tears, again touched Drakken's arm. "Can you…please can you…forgive me?"

Drakken didn't move.

"I need you to forgive me!" she cried. " I didn't know! I tried so many times to find you. When I heard you were dead, I tried to take it out on Kimmie and Ron. Eventually they told me the truth, so I cut a deal. I'm under arrest now, too. It was the only way to see you. To tell you." She began to sob again. "Just talk to me, Dr. D, please!"

Drakken didn't move.

"Oh god…" Shego pulled away, shaking her head in disbelief. "O…okay…I don't blame you…I guess I deserve it…" She moved to stand up when Drakken suddenly reached out and pulled her close. He hugged her and began to cry.

Kim and Ron wanted to leave. Shego's news had shocked them to the core, and what was happening now was so intense, so private—they simply weren't prepared. But they couldn't tear their eyes away from the incredible scene before them.

The two ex-villains sat on the floor, hugging each other tight as though they'd never let go. "It's okay," Drakken finally said, his voice muffled by Shego's hair as he held her, tears long held back now streaming down his face. "It's okay, Shego. I…I forgive you. You didn't know." His voice hitched. "Oh, I've missed you so much!"

Shego hugged him tighter, if that was possible. She laughed. It wasn't the laughter of evil glee but a laugh of raw relief. "Honest, I had no idea," she kept repeating.

"And it's okay," he kept countering. "It's okay now."

After a few moments, Drakken gently pulled Shego away and held her at arm's length, blinking at her through teary eyes. "Life's a bitch, isn't it?" he said simply.

Shego laughed again. "Oh yeah."

"Here." Drakken got up, intending to hold out a hand to help Shego up as well. But he gasped as his knee gave way beneath him with the pain of hot needles. He nearly fell back down but caught the edge of the couch and heaved himself back up on one leg, shaking his head vehemently to stop any help from Kim or Ron. Shego retrieved his cane and silently handed it to him. He took it, and with a combination of relief, anger and resentment in his eyes, leaned heavily on it.

Kim watched as Drakken grimaced, head down, hand gripping his cane so hard his blue knuckles were white, waiting for his knee to stop throbbing. She turned to Shego. "So this was your discovery?"

Shego nodded bleakly.

"Who was the rich guy? How did he contact you? Did he give you a name, address, anything that could help us track him down?"

Shego sniffled. "Sorry, princess. In the villain world, employees don't often know who they're working for. I was contacted different ways each time—cell text, email, phone call, all untraceable. Believe me, I tried. I had no direct communication with anyone. I thought nothing of it because that sort of thing isn't unusual. I got paid on schedule and that's all I cared about." She put a tentative hand on Drakken's shoulder. He didn't look at her, still fighting his own inner battle against the pain, but he nodded to acknowledge her touch.

"Didn't you even peek at one of the notes you delivered?" Ron asked Shego.

"Uh, doy," Shego replied. "They were in code. A fancy-shmancy code I've never seen before."

Kim thought a moment. "So someone wanted you to deliver those notes, notes that, apparently, gave instructions for Drakken to be attacked. Why you?"

"I'm his sidekick, pumpkin." Shego shook her head in disgust. "Attack Drakken, use his sidekick to do it. Somebody thought they were being funny, I guess."

"And we still don't have any idea who that somebody is," Ron grumped. "It's gotta be some kind of personal revenge."

Drakken finally spoke through gritted teeth, his head still bowed. "Who would want revenge on me? Maybe somebody who suffered damages by the Diablos? I guess it's possible, but no typical civilian could have arranged hits like that. Another villain? I doubt it, I never interfered that badly with any of them. So who's left?" He raised his head and turned to Kim, his eyes puffy from tears and pain, his mouth a grim line. "I haven't the foggiest. Welcome to my world."

Ron poked Kim, and she nodded to him. "Look, you two," she said, trying to sound casual, "technically we're not supposed to leave you together alone but—"

The monitor on the wall by the kitchen lit up, and Dr. Director peered out at the group. "You may do so, Miss Possible," she said.

Shego glared at the monitor. "You were spying the whole time?"

"There is no privacy in a prisoner's quarters, Miss Go," Dr. Director replied smoothly. "Though, if you keep your temper, I will allow you two ten minutes."

Drakken blinked in surprise. "You'll turn off the surveillance?"

Dr. Director nodded. "Possible, Stoppable, please exit by the front door. Ten minutes only." The screen went dead.

Kim and Ron went to the door. "We'll, uh, knock, okay?"

Drakken mechanically inclined his head once in reply.

After the door closed, he took a deep shuddery breath. "This...is too much, I…" He put a hand to his head, feeling the onset of one of his headaches. "It's too much." He collapsed back on the couch. "I don't know what to do…"

"Dr. D." Shego sat down next to him. "I'd like to do something I always wanted to do but never had the nerve."

Drakken plucked a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped his tear-stained face. "You? Not have the nerve to do something? Pray tell, what?"

"This." She leaned in and kissed him.

Before his affair with Yvonne Turance, Drakken would have freaked if Shego had ever seriously tried to kiss him. He had loved her then—he had always loved her—but he'd been inexperienced with women in general and incredibly scared of Shego in particular. The many scars on his body hadn't all come from his prison attacks. Shego's temper and green glow had been unleashed on him many times, usually unfairly, but what did that matter when Shego got angry?

But now it was different. Shego had done a terrible thing to him, but it had all been a mistake. As much as that hurt, he'd seen with his own eyes how much it had hurt her, too. And she was kissing him with real passion. He knew that kind of kiss now. He put a hand behind her head, the other around her shoulders, and drew her close, deepening the kiss. She responded likewise, kissing him with a fierceness born of love and guilt and desperation.

Drakken wanted to melt into her then and there and be done with life and its torments. This was what he wanted. This was what he'd wanted all along. If only...if only...

After a blissful eternity, they parted. "They'll put you in jail, won't they," Drakken said, feeling a tidbit of hope in his life fade away before it even had a chance to grow.

Shego looked surprised, as if the future had never occurred to her. "I...I made my deal. All I've thought of since is what I'd do when I saw you. Now…I don't know."

There came a soft knock on the door. "Ten minutes already?" Drakken sighed.

Shego quickly hugged him. "One last time," she said, and kissed him again.

That's when the surveillance cameras clicked back to life, the GJ monitor turned back on, and the front door opened. "Uhh…" said Ron uncertainly.

"Ahem," came Dr. Director's voice over the monitor.

Drakken and Shego kept kissing, afraid of letting go. After all this time, after so much had happened, things were the way they were supposed to be between them…and it was too late.

"That's enough," Dr. Director snapped.

Drakken pulled back, too trained by his last mistake to disobey Dr. Director this time. He scooted away from Shego like a child caught by his mother, his eyes closed in misery.

Shego got up.

"Come on," Kim said to her. "We have to go."

Drakken whirled on Dr. Director's face on the monitor. "Please," he said to her. "Let me see her once in a while. I'll do anything you want. Don't leave me alone here, not after this, please."

Kim had never heard Drakken beg before—not seriously, anyway. He was leaning toward the monitor, one hand held out, a single new tear trailing down his left cheek. She felt embarrassed for him, but then, she wasn't the one who had been through what he'd been through. Shego had always been his rock, Kim knew that. And Drakken had been struggling to stay afloat in rough waters for so long with nothing to hold onto. To see Shego again and then to lose her just as quickly…it made Kim want to take Ron's hand and squeeze it, to tell him how grateful she was that he simply existed. But she resisted the urge.

Dr. Director said nothing, just looked at Drakken.

"I won't call you Betty anymore," he offered. It was a sincere offer, but it made Dr. Director break into a chuckle.

"I can't promise anything, Drew," she said to him, "but I'll see what I can do."

Drakken nodded. "Thank you…Dr. Director."

She gave him a small smile. "You can call me Betty." The monitor went blank.

No one moved in the little living room. Drakken shrank into himself, realizing the scene he'd just made. He had lost so much of his dignity over the last year, but not all of it. He felt like such a fool! But at least the fool now had a chance at some happiness. He turned away, too embarrassed to see what the others thought of him now.

Kim and Ron stared at their shoes, amazed by the awkweirdness of the world and wondering how to bring it all back into focus again. Never had they dreamed of dealing with a situation like this. Their emotions during the last half hour had whipsawed from one extreme to the other. They both felt exhausted, and they had been mere witnesses!

Shego stared down at her hands, afraid to say anything and mess up her already tenuous deal with GJ. Yes, she could have ignited her plasma, decimated the whole house, and dragged Drakken off—but they wouldn't just be wanted anymore. Dr. Director had told her that her agents would team with local, state, national and international forces. Those forces would carry loaded guns, and they would actively hunt their quarry down, not simply wait for Drakken to poke his head out of the sand with a new take-over-the-world scheme. Shego no longer wanted to take a risk like that. She did not want to risk losing Drakken again.

Drakken was the one who finally broke the silence. "You'd better go, Shego," he said, almost too softly to hear. "Dr. Director gets cranky if she's not obeyed."

Shego gave him a look, but then remembered the little she'd been told about his affair with one of the GJ staff. Drakken certainly must have changed, in her opinion for the better, to be so daring as to fool around while under house arrest. Shego felt almost proud of him. She was jealous, too. She figured that Drakken must have really gotten his hand slapped to be so submissive around Dr. Director now.

Kim and Ron gestured Shego toward the door. Shego looked at Drakken, who remained seated on the couch, staring at the worn carpet. "Bye, Doc."

"...Goodbye, Shego."

"I'll be back, okay? I swear." And then she was escorted out by Kim and Ron. The door closed, and Drakken heard his own Laser-Lockit device hum in the hands of Kim Possible as she locked him in from the outside.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: Waking Nightmare**

Author Note: Sorry for the brief delay in posting. "Life" interfered. Don't you hate when that happens??

_Time: moments later_

Drakken slumped on his ugly but comfy couch, gazing at nothing for almost thirty minutes. He wanted to get up and maybe get a glass of water—his throat was dry. He thought that perhaps a pain pill would stop his knee from shrieking like a hysterical soprano with needles for sound waves. But he didn't get a pain pill. He didn't get a glass of water. He sat. And thought.

For awhile he just thought about Shego, replaying her kisses over and over in his mind. The feel of her silken hair against his skin, her strong arms around his body, her warm tongue probing his mouth. Yvonne had felt like lightning and had tasted of daring and risk, a heady combination indeed. But Shego had felt and tasted of home. Of commitment. That in itself made Drakken bark out a strange little laugh. Shego, commit to anything? What a silly notion. On the other hand, she had told him straight out that she'd turned herself in to GJ because that was the only way she could see him.

If that wasn't a commitment, what was?

But what _kind_ of commitment was it, exactly? And what would become of it? He was stuck here in this prison house while she was...somewhere else. Probably in a GJ holding cell for tonight. He barked that weird laugh again. She could use her plasma and shred that entire facility to pieces without batting an eyelash. The fact that she wouldn't....

He knew she wouldn't. How did he know? He just did. Shego would be a model prisoner tonight. She would do it for him.

That's why he was afraid for her. Her deal with Dr. Director, her kiss, the longing look in her heartbreakingly beautiful green eyes—what would it all come to, under the circumstances? She was doomed to jail, and whoever had tried to kill him—whoever had lured her in to deliver his death orders—was still out there. Shego was capable of leveling an entire building if she got mad enough, but now? She might consent to hand restraints, power siphons, whatever GJ wanted, all because of her promise to _him_. And that handicap might leave her vulnerable. If anything happened to her at this point...

Drakken stopped his mind from going in that direction.

After awhile he slowly got up and limped to the little half bathroom just off the living room. He kept a few pain pills in the cabinet there. He shook two out of the bottle and swallowed them dry. It made him quirk a little smile every time he did that. A year ago, taking a small pill without water would have made him choke. Now he popped horse pills dry without a second thought.

Out of perverse curiosity he had once _chewed_ a pain pill. The awful taste had stayed in his mouth for hours, even after four glasses of water, a desperate mouthful of peanut butter, and then a sprinkling of baking soda on his tongue. Nothing had helped, and he had ended up working in his bedroom lab with his tongue hanging out until both taste and the pill's pharmaceutical burn had gone away. Altogether a most interesting, if not disgusting, experiment. _I am definitely a scientist,_ he thought with vague humor. _I've always been my own best guinea pig!_

So now what? He decided to take a nap. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He flopped onto the couch, pulled a pillow under his head, and closed his eyes...

_He was kissing Yvonne. She had him pushed up against a wall, her strength oddly overpowering, and he loved it. He was naked, she was naked, she was kissing him with frantic want, and any minute now she would reach down and take hold of him and then...ahhh, and then..._

_Spaghetti sauce. He doubled over and gripped the knife handle sticking out of his gut while Yvonne stepped back and laughed, telling him that he wasn't worth shit, that he was pathetic, ridiculous, and more than anything else, a failure. He didn't perceive her words as words but as a drumming in his head that echoed over and over, and as pain clouded his mind, he saw Yvonne's body waver, morphing into a dark menacing figure with enormous claws._

_The monster suddenly fell sideways as if shoved hard._

_Shego did it! She was here to save him! She had kicked the monster far far away, and now she was gripping him by the shoulders and helping him stand. "It's okay," she told him lovingly. "It's okay now."_

_He tried to tell her it wasn't okay, that he hurt, hurt bad, but he couldn't speak. His strength was ebbing, and all he could do was gawk helplessly down at the bright red blood quickly covering his corpse-blue hands and dripping to the pavement._

_"It's okay, Drew," Shego said. She gently pried his fingers off of the knife handle. "I'll take care of it."_

_She shoved the knife in further, shoved it hard, shoved it all the way through his guts and through his spine and out his back and he heard it clatter to the floor behind him. He expected to feel an explosion of agony, but he was more horrified than anything else as Shego slowly pulled her hand back out of the fist-sized hole she had made in his body, scraping at his exposed guts with her nails as she did. "Now bleed to death," she told him, smearing her blood-covered fingertips across his face. "You aren't good for anything else."_

_Drakken screamed, screamed so hard he shook with the effort, screamed in blind horror until his vocal chords threatened to snap, and as he screamed Shego stamped her foot on the ground. "Bleed!" she cried each time she stamped. "Bleed!" Stamp. "Bleed!" Stamp. "Bleed!" Stamp—_

Drakken jerked awake with a hoarse shout. As the awful dream-images faded he curled up and hugged himself, waiting for the very real pain in his guts to subside. Sweat trickled down his face, and his body hummed with an ugly expectation of even more gore to come. Drakken knew these sensations all too well and forced himself to breathe deeply. Just another nightmare, that's all it was. Just another damned nightmare—

_Stamp!_

He bolted upright on the couch.

It was only somebody knocking on the door.

"Shit," he panted, and got to his feet. He didn't need to open the door, of course. He heard the hum of a Laser Lockit and then the door opened on its own.

A big man in a GJ uniform stood there. "Lipsky?"

"Yeah," Drakken said, still shaking from the dream. He drew the back of his hand across his damp forehead and then ran his fingers through his tousled hair, hoping the agent wouldn't notice anything amiss. "You, uh, you're the new guy..."

"Wabach," the man said. He seemed neither friendly or unfriendly, just sort of...there. Then again, being assigned to monitor the dull daily routines of an incarcerated ex-supervillain wasn't the most exciting of jobs. Drakken figured Wabach wasn't thrilled with his assignment any more than Drakken would have been if their places were switched.

"Okay, we've met," Drakken said. "Now what?"

Wabach entered the house. "Clam it while I take a look around."

Drakken wasn't intimidated by GJ goons anymore. There were worse things living in his own head these days, like the nightmares. A burly guy in a uniform with a snotty attitude was just a nuisance. Drakken shrugged one shoulder and said, "Knock yourself out, pal."

Wabach gave him a nasty glare and proceeded further into the house, scanning the place with unusual interest. He stopped in front of the monitor screen. "Your surveillance system isn't on," he commented rather loudly.

This took Drakken by surprise. "It isn't? Dr. Director used it just awhile ago. She never turns it off. Hm, you're right, it's—"

_"Oh, will you just shut your mouth, you blue freak!!"_

Drakken whirled to see a tall white-haired gentleman walk through the door, one hand on a cane while the other hand was tucked in his jacket pocket. And a fine jacket pocket it was, being part of a smart silk suit. The man was old, with wild white hair and eyes like black onyx, and there was a powerful dignity about him that immediately struck Drakken. There was nothing "GJ" about this guy.

"Who the hell are you?" Drakken demanded.

The man just frowned at him, the ends of his lips curving downward with unbridled loathing. He stepped aside to allow two more men into the house. These two didn't wear GJ uniforms, just bland coveralls and gloves. They headed straight for Drakken, as Wabach did as well.

And Drakken knew. The man in the silk suit was _the one._ His tormentor. His would-be murderer.

The three goons grabbed Drakken and held his arms and torso tightly, yanking his head back by his hair as if they expected him to explode in a flurry of expert kung fu moves or something. Drakken surprised them—he did nothing. He just stared at the old man, stunned that he was finally seeing his nightmare monster in the flesh.

The mysterious gentleman nodded once to Wabach, and the fake GJ agent took a device from his pocket. It looked like a little scanner of some type. He ran the device from Drakken's head down to his toes and up again — it emitted a high beep over Drakken's right shoulder. Wabach pressed the device down on the spot, and Drakken felt a brief sharp pricking sensation under his skin.

Wabach stepped back. "One tracking chip out of commission," he told Sir. Then he whispered in Drakken's ear, "Ain't nobody gonna find you now, freak boy. Not ever."

Sir opened the door and stepped out, followed by Wabach. The other two goons poked Drakken, making him follow. The ex-mad scientist moved in a daze — his curiosity was finally satisfied at the sight of his nightmare monster, but a small voice somewhere in the back of his mind was shrieking in wild panic. His body stiffened. His feet didn't want to carry him further as if they knew what was in store.

One of the goons smacked him in the back. "C'mon, walk!" he ordered.

Drakken lingered, hoping for a miracle.

"I don't have time for this!" came the old man's raspy voice.

In response, one of the goons pressed something against Drakken's arm, swift and precise. Drakken felt the prick of a needle. Then the world started to melt. Everything began to tilt to one side. He suddenly felt weightless and realized with vague concern that he had been lifted up and was being carried.

The goons threw him into the back of a van parked as close as possible to the little house's front door. Drakken grunted at the impact of hard metal against his spine, then his head smacked against a wheel well.

There was nothing after that.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Hello, Sir**

Author Note: Here it is, guys! The BEGINNING of THE END!

_Time: moments later_

"...tell me...see...blip, understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

The words floated around in Drakken's head without meaning. He felt weirdly numb, as if he'd taken too many pain pills at once, and he heard an odd ringing tone in the distance, like a teapot whistling, high and piercing. It made his eyeballs hurt.

The sound of footsteps passed close by, and then he heard a mumbly noise from the opposite direction, like somebody griping to themselves. He tried to make out the words, but his stomach suddenly reported that it was nauseated. _Crap, I'm gonna ralph,_ he thought dimly.

That was something you never saw in the movies. Good guys and bad guys alike could get knocked out ten times in two hours and just pop back to consciousness. In reality, for many people, there was a lot of barf involved. Drakken already knew he was one of those lucky people. After the prison beating, he'd nearly choked on his own vomit because he'd woken up on his back. Thank god someone had found him in time and turned him over. The move had saved his life, but the _ewww_ factor had been enough to make him vomit all over again.

His stomach cut him a break this time. As the nausea subsided, he realized he was lying on his right side on a very hard floor. He tried to open his eyes and thought at first that he was blindfolded. But it was just grit stuck in his eyelashes. He blinked rapidly several times to knock the gunk free.

When his eyes were finally open and clear, he saw that he was in a dark deserted warehouse. _How cliché,_ he thought. He was an ex-supervillain, after all. He'd used deserted warehouses enough himself. Whoever his silk-suited enemy was, the man operated by good old-fashioned villain rules. The angular shadows criss-crossing floor and ceiling were precisely foreboding. Each far corner of the big building was hidden by just the right amount of evil gloom. What little light there was—a faint lamp with a sickly yellow glow—was obviously designed to weaken even the stoutest of hearts. The place was empty except for random bits of scrap metal sheeting and other industrial garbage. The air was thick with dust.

Drakken felt as if it could be one of his very own properties.

A pair of shiny boots appeared in his field of vision. "He's awake, Sir," came a male's nasal voice.

"Good," came an answer. "Get him up."

Drakken was hauled to his feet. _Ohhh, not good! _he thought as his stomach protested anew. He gagged and leaned over, lost in dry heaves for a moment. Whoever was holding him abruptly let go, and he heard their footsteps shuffle quickly out of the line of potential fire.

Drakken stood there, stooped over, hugging his mid-section until he was sure it was a false alarm. _Hooray for small favors,_ he thought.

That's when he heard a long low growl, like a dog's first warning that it's going to bite. Words then formed out of the growl: "Oh, how I hate you."

Drakken looked up. The old man was hobbling toward him with icy malice in his onyx eyes, his cane tap-tapping on the concrete floor.

Drakken spoke one word, his voice hoarse and pleading. _"Why?" _

"I've followed your career," the man said, ignoring the question. "When you started out, I held such hopes for you. I said, here is a villain whose genius will conquer the world!" The old man clenched his fist and shook it as if in triumph. "Yes, I had such hopes. I watched each of your plans unfold..." His voice grew waspish. "...and to my growing dismay I watched you bungle every single one of them! You let a _child_ defeat you not once, but over and over again! You are a worthless fool, and I was a fool to put my faith in you. You've ruined me, that's what you've done. I should have it all by now!"

Drakken blinked. "All of what?"

"The world!" the old man bellowed. "What, you think I was going to let you keep it? You were supposed to conquer the world _for_ _me!"_

At that, Drakken managed to straighten up, a wash of anger giving him the strength to glare at the old man eye-to-eye. "As if I'd give it to you!" he spat.

"Well, of course not. I'd have to kill you for it." The man's tone was so suddenly and unexpectedly conversational that Drakken felt his flesh creep.

He studied the man's face. Wrinkled, but the features were strong. He wasn't handsome, but he had the kind of face that would be hard to forget, what with those deep-set eyes, that stout chin, and that wide mouth with thin lips that made Drakken think of a snake trying to smile. "Who _are_ you?"

"Someone who tried to help."

That answer was so unexpected, so totally ridiculous, that Drakken actually laughed. "What, by sending thugs after me who did everything but pull out my liver and eat it raw?"

The old man looked over Drakken's shoulder and gave a curt nod. Drakken whirled around, expecting to be attacked, but all he saw was a hawk-faced man in a tidy black suit standing by a door. Hawk-face nodded acknowledgement to his employer, opened the door and stepped through, closing it softly behind him.

Drakken turned back to the old man, who commented quite cheerfully, "I must say, I'm impressed by your resilience. The result of an experiment gone awry, am I right? I expected you to be an easy kill, but not only did you survive my little scenarios, you actually fought back when push finally came to shove...so to speak."

The veiled reference to the rape made Drakken nauseous all over again.

The old man went on. "I almost felt proud of you, do you know that? You showed some spirit after all." His face darkened with fury. "_But you wouldn't die!" _He instantly calmed back down. "You must understand that I chose to cut your life short because of the Diablos." Now he smiled, showing sparkling white dentures, the teeth too big for his withered snake mouth. "My god, the utter brilliance of it! I thought, ah-ha! Now he'll do it! He can't lose!" The hateful frown returned. "But you _did_ lose. You failed beyond all failure with a plan that should have finally delivered the world into my hands!" For a moment he glared at Drakken with the eyes of the very Devil. Then he let out a howl of pure animal fury.

Drakken took a wary step back as the sound echoed in the empty warehouse. Dealing with unstable personalities was nothing new to him—he himself had his moments—but this old geezer wasn't your average villain, weirdly obsessed like Monkey Fist or annoyingly vindictive like Dementor. No, this fellow was certifiably _insane._ He looked okay on the outside, but now that Drakken was close to him, he could feel the bone-deep _wrongness_ of the man. He radiated madness, and Drakken shied away from it, realizing that although he'd lost a hinge or two in his time, he'd never come close to this.

The door behind Drakken opened and Hawk-face stepped through. He held the door wide so that a short plump woman in a flower-print housecoat could hesitantly peek out.

Drakken's terror turned to dread. "M-Mother?"

Mama Lipsky took one look at her son and brought her hand up to her mouth. "You're dead!" she cried, then fainted dead away.

"Mother!" Drakken yelled, and he moved toward her.

"Stay right where you are!"

Drakken stopped cold at the sound of a distinctive _click_. He turned and saw the gun in the old man's wrinkled hand, pointed straight at him. Normally such a sight would have sent him groveling, but with his mother now in the mix, Drakken found the strength to push his fear aside. "What is she doing here!" he demanded.

The old man shrugged. "She's my wife."

Seconds ticked by.

The old man chuckled.

Drakken couldn't breathe. _No. No no no,_ he thought. _Not true not real not possible no can't no not isn't no nonononono..._

"You were a disappointment before you were even born, Drew." The old man waved the gun in a casual gesture of dismissal. "Clearly I should have killed you in utero and saved myself forty-six years of grief."

Drakken couldn't utter a sound. He could barely make his eyes focus on the maniac who had tried to kill him repeatedly, mercilessly. Knife. Fists. Rape. Losing everything. Becoming no one. Falling into a black hole. No meaning. No context. No purpose. A living death. His fate.

His _father...._

"I was quite the actor in those days," Sir said with a nostalgic sigh. "Oh yes, I could be quite charming when I wanted to. And at the time I thought I'd made a good catch. She was beautiful when we met. I know it's hard to believe, but I wouldn't have married an ugly woman. Glad we parted when we did, though. The years have not been kind to her, have they? Ugh. No, not kind at all."

Drakken's shoulders shook. It wasn't a sob. He didn't know exactly what his body was doing. He had no control over it. All he could do was stand there and listen to words that struck him like the back of a large, cold hand.

"For the record, she had no idea I wasn't really a building contractor when we married." The old man laughed. "But she became suspicious. Wives should know better than to interfere with their husband's business, but Gertrude? Oh, she was difficult. A sharp mind, that one. Too sharp."

"She..." Drakken struggled to get the words out. "She...said you died...in a boating accident..."

"I owned a yacht, yes. And I suppose she considered me dead. But I'll have you know that _she_ was the one who left _me _when she found out. Being married to the head of the Middleton Mob wasn't good enough for her, I suppose."

The Middleton Mob? Drakken knew his villain history, especially the infamous MM and the mysterious madman who ran it: Sir. No full name, just Sir. A cold blooded murderer. Heartless. Cruel. A man who was supposed to have died many years ago. Forty-six years, to be exact.

Drakken moaned as long-buried childhood memories resurfaced in his mind. His mother had told her little boy, always with tears, that "Daddy" had died a month before he was born. Daddy had been a good man, she'd said. Daddy had loved him, she'd said. Now he knew the truth—why she had always been so clingy, why she had insisted on walking hand-in-hand to school with him every day even when he'd reached high school, why she had cried so much when he'd begged her to back off and let him grow up.

Why she loved him so damned much.

The old man took a step towards his son. "Don't you see now, why I watched your career? I knew you were destined for villainy. It's in your blood." He raised the gun. "But you let me down."

Drakken shut his eyes, expecting to hear a loud blast. He figured he might feel the bullet rip into him, but he hoped not. What he heard next wasn't what he expected.

"Dewby?" Then, _"Charles, no!"_

It was his mother. She'd come to and was reaching out to her husband, a mother pleading for the life of her son.

"Shut up, Gertrude!" Sir commanded. "I swear I'll shoot you between your beady little eyes if you don't stop gabbling like a damned chicken!"

That did it. Drakken didn't think, he just moved, lunging for his father, fingers curled into claws, teeth bared. The next thing he knew he was stumbling sideways, his left arm hot and stinging, the sharp report of a gun filling his ears.

He clutched his arm, staggering. Blood began to seep between his fingers as he pressed on the wound.

"Pitiful," Sir lamented, lowering the gun. "Absolutely pitiful." He nodded again to Hawk-face, who spoke one quick word into a walkie-talkie. In seconds, the main loading ramp door of the warehouse rolled up to reveal Wabach and three other goons.

"Four against one," Sir mused. "Let's see how you do, you blue aberration."

The goons approached Drakken, whose first impulse was to run away. But then he thought, _Why? Where can I go from here?_ This was it, the end. He could feel it in his bones. And his mother—his poor mother, who certainly knew the awful truth about her beloved little boy at this point—was watching. A surge of something besides self-preservation coursed through him. "What about her?" he asked, indicating Mama Lipsky. "Let her go. She hasn't done anything."

"Dewby, no!"

"Oh she hasn't?" Sir replied snidely, ignoring his wife's plea. "She gave birth to _you,_ didn't she?"

Drakken winced and lowered his head. Of all the hurts he had suffered during this past year—even the bullet wound he now clutched with one hand—of all those hurts, those mere words hurt most of all.

Young Drew Lipsky had dreamed about his father for many years after the "accident," sometimes dreaming that he saved his father from drowning, sometimes dreaming that his father simply showed up at the front door, dripping wet but alive and ecstatic to see his son. Young Drew had woken up from those dreams crying his little eyes out. One night he had even prayed that he might die at that moment, just so he could meet his daddy.

The monster standing before him didn't deserve those dreams.

So the small light that had shined in Drakken's heart all these years, the light of his father's supposed love, winked out. The warm spot deep inside of him, the warmth that he'd always presumed would be the feeling of his father's arms around him, withered and grew cold.

He lifted his head and faced the monster. "Don't you dare put any blame on my mother," he hissed. "Or have you forgotten that fathers play some small part in the making of a child?"

"Not you," Sir declared. "Never you. Whatever I gave to you, you wasted. Besides, she left me! She would have ratted me out! I had to stage my own demise, for god's sake. Do you have any idea how complicated that is?"

Drakken's brow quirked. "Why didn't you just kill her like you did so many others?"

Sir frowned. "I thought about it but...even I have feelings."

Drakken burst out laughing. "Well, good for you! You want props for not killing your wife!" He laughed harder, needing the physical release of tension as much as anything else.

Sir's lip curled in a snarl. He turned to his goons. "Rough him up, boys, but remember—_I_ take him _out."_

"Charles, please, don't do this!" cried Mama Lipsky.

Sir whirled and fired his gun at her. Drakken and his mother both screamed.

The bullet missed.

Drakken's world went red. He forgot the sound that the gun had made and the pain in his arm. He roared and leaped at his father again, this time getting a grip on the old man's silk lapel before he was wrenched back by Wabach, who shoved him to the floor. Drakken rolled, but before he rolled too far, he grabbed Sir's cane out of the old man's hand.

"Hey!" Sir shouted. "Give that back!"

Drakken used the cane to haul himself back to his feet before another goon reached him.

The goon swung. Drakken blocked the beefy fist with the cane. The goon howled and hauled off another punch, this time making contact with Drakken's jaw and sending the blue man back to the floor. His bad knee smacked against the concrete and his vision went white. He clamped his mouth shut so the sound of his crying was muffled. He didn't want his attackers to know that he had the handicap. But holy god it hurt, like a lightning bolt shooting up and down his leg! His eyes spilled tears and his whole body tensed as he tried to suppress sobs of pain.

Another goon rushed at him. No way could he stand up, so Drakken rolled onto his back and aimed the cane as best he could through his tears, viciously stabbing the goon in the gut with it. He heard a satisfying grunt and the goon went down, clutching his belly.

Then the others were on him, and Drakken felt the impact of boots, a horrid sensation he knew all too well. He didn't curl up and take it, though, not this time. Jaws clenched, he endured a kick to the ribs and then grabbed the foot, pushing hard against it and knocking its owner down. Then he swung the cane and hit Wabach in the face, sending the man stumbling back with a wail.

That was all he could do. His knee hurt too much. His heart and mind hurt too much. Briefly he wondered what he'd done to deserve so much tragedy, but the thought quickly faded under the onslaught of kicks.

"Look at you, a heap of useless flesh!" came Sir's venomous voice. "You're no son of mine!"

TBC

_Heh heh heh._


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Goodbye, Sir**

_Time: ten seconds later_

_Author Note: You know that thing I mentioned earlier, "Life" getting in the way of my writing? Well, sorry for the delay again. "Life" intervened once more!  
_

"All right, enough!" Sir commanded.

Wabach and his goons backed away from Drakken, who lay on the hard concrete, head tucked in, his body in a protective ball.

Sir checked his gun. "Now, finally, the _coup de grâce_," he muttered. "Wabach, my cane! And you, you blue shit—get up!"

Drakken remained as he was, his whole body trembling, his breath coming in short loud gasps.

"Please, Charles!" cried Mama Lipsky. "You've done enough! Let him alone!"

Hawk-faced Personal Assistant took the initiative this time and slapped the woman across the face. Mama Lipsky put a hand to her reddened cheek in shock, but it would take a lot more than a slap to shut her up. "They'll execute you for this, Charles!" she raged. "You, too, you, you _hooligan!"_ she told Personal Assistant.

Sir only laughed. "Stupid woman, I'm already dead! Can't kill a man twice, you know."

"If only!" Mama Lipsky shouted. "You touch him again and—

"Touch him again and you won't need any execution," came a sultry threatening voice. "I'll fry your ass for you."

Mama Lipsky, Sir, Wabach, Personal Assistant and the goons all turned to see a figure standing in the glare of the warehouse's open loading door. The outline was pleasingly curvy. Long black hair flowed down past a trim waist. Two bursts of green plasma erupted around each fist. "Oh, and a word of advice—next time you try to fry a tracking chip, double-check that it's really fried. Finding you was like following a map!" Shego crouched into a fighting stance. "Come on, tough guys. How about letting a lady crunch your nuts for ya."

"Shego, don't be rude!" admonished Kim Possible as she stepped into the warehouse, followed by Ron Stoppable. "I mean, you can't hog all the fun."

Sir let out a hearty laugh. "Glorious! A rescue party! And Shego—so nice to meet my trusted courier in person."

"Shut your pie hole," Shego snarled. "You played me, gramps. And why? So you could torture your own _son?"_

Sir merely grinned, his snake-mouth stretching too wide, his perfect dentures gleaming unnaturally.

Shego had always thought—though she had never admitted it out loud—that Drakken's sinister grins were truly scary at times. Now she knew where he got it from.

"So," the monster said. "You know The Big Secret."

Shego gave no response. She had heard Sir's final words to Drakken—"You're no son of mine!"—as she'd reached the open door, but she wasn't about to admit that she hadn't known the truth already. She had to play it cool. Yet she was still reeling from the shock of such news.

Quickly she scanned the area. She could see a curled form on the floor near the old man. She presumed it was Drakken, though the interior gloom of the warehouse made positive identification impossible, not from this distance. If it _was_ Drakken, was he alive? She couldn't tell that either. The thought that she might be too late made her heart seem to cringe.

"Tell me something before I kill you," Sir said conversationally. "Did my son ever bang you? Because I'm curious, you see—I was beginning to think he was a fag."

Shego heard a collective gasp as Kim, Ron and Mama Lipsky reacted to the foul words. As for Shego, she was having trouble believing the entire situation. This filthy awful man was _Drakken's father?_ Drakken, who could be evil but then turn around to display levels of sweetness, love, even genuine childlike innocence beyond anyone she'd ever known? No, the two men couldn't possibly be related!

Yet they apparently were.

A shiver of revulsion ran through her as she powered up her glow. She saw Sir nod his head—the signal for Wabach and the goons to come charging. "Kimmie, take a coffee break," Shego growled. "These jerks are mine!" And she ran straight at them shooting plasma bursts. The two sides met, and after a brief flurry of sharp green blasts, claws, fists and kicks, Shego stood amidst a pile of bodies.

Sir applauded. "I would expect nothing less," he said.

"I expected a lot more," Shego shot back.

"Let me oblige you, my dear."

From out of the gloom of the warehouse corners came more goons. Two here, four there, three from over there. Two dozen in all.

"Oh, gee," Shego said contemptuously. "Am I supposed to be scared?"

"I don't care," Sir answered. "I just want you to die."

"Not at the hands of these chumps!" Shego snarled, and she charged them, plasma flying. Kim charged, too.

A sudden shriek of metal made both women pause.

"GYAAAAH!" Ron shrieked as the warehouse's rolling door came rumbling down. He leaped out of the way just before it could crush him. With a metallic crash, the warehouse was plunged into a network of deep shadows and pale streaks of light. The yellow glow of the lamp over Sir's head was the only substantial illumination.

Ron scrambled to his feet as Shego resumed her charge. "Ron, lights!" Kim called before she, too, balled her fists and ran at the goons.

"Lights! Right! On it, KP!" Ron said, and he darted into the gloom, adding, "Find the light switch, Rufus!"

"Hokay!"

As Ron scrabbled around in the murk, arms flailing, trying to find a wall or control panel or anything, he could hear the sounds of battle: Kim's bell-clear voice shouting "Hyah!" and "Take that!" while Shego just roared and grunted as she gave and received hits. The goons roared a bit, too, but Ron was pleased to hear "Ow!" and "Oof!" a lot.

Rufus suddenly darted into the gloom. "Over here!" his little voice chirped.

"Rufus, where are you going?" Ron cried, automatically following. What was the mole rat thinking? He was circling the fight area and heading for the only light in the building — the lone lamp hanging over Sir! Ron didn't want to go over there!

But Rufus was right—Sir was standing by the only control console in the place. He must have been the one to send the rolling door down, so he probably also had control of the lights. "Let's take him down, buddy!" Ron called.

"No!" came a raspy voice.

Ron skidded to a stop just before tripping over a big lump on the floor. "Whoa there—Dr. Drakken?!"

"Help...me up," Drakken said. Though his voice sounded weak, it was infused with command. He wasn't making a request, he was giving an order. Ron found himself obeying. He helped Drakken to a sitting position, noticing how the blue man didn't use his left leg at all, and then put both his arms under Drakken's armpits and hauled him all the way up.

One year ago Ron wouldn't have been able to accomplish such a task. Drakken was simply too big. But Ron had enjoyed a hefty growth spurt. Combined with a daily gym workout, he no longer looked like a boy. He was becoming a man. He easily got the ex-mad scientist to his feet, wobbly though the feet were.

Drakken eyed Sir, who stood in his halo of light some fifteen feet away, raptly watching the fight. "Take me...to him."

Ron shook his head. "Dude, you so _don't_ want to do that. He's got a gun."

"Yeah yeah, I know...already got shot." Drakken's mouth curved downward in an ugly frown. "Just do it, boy."

Ron clenched his teeth at being called "boy," but the insult also gave him a weird feeling of nostalgia. He glanced at Kim and Shego, saw that they were holding their own, and decided to do as Drakken wanted.

Sir couldn't help but notice their labored approach. "You're already dead, _sonny boy_, just like me," he declared. "Drop the theatrics."

Drakken shrugged Ron off and stood on his own before his father, tottering a bit but managing to remain upright. "I'm not...dead," he said hoarsely. "Not yet. But if you...want me dead, fine. Have it...your way. Shoot."

Ron moved as if to attack Sir. "Not on my watch!"

Drakken's eyes flared. "Get away, buffoon!" he hissed. "Go save your little girlfriend or something!"

Ron stopped in his tracks, unsure what to do. Drakken _didn't_ want help? What was _that_ about?

Sir chuckled. "My my," he said to Drakken. "Are we trying to be noble?"

"Not a bit," Drakken responded. "I'm just...tired of this. Shoot me. Get it over with. Head, heart...that ought to do it, don't you think, _Dad?"_

Ron couldn't believe what was happening. "Drakken, what are you doing?!"

Shego heard the yell and, after dispatching yet another goon with a precision flying kick to the head, she turned to Sir. There stood Drakken before the mobster, barely able to stand, arms outstretched like the perfect target. "Dr. D!" she called in alarm. She leaped over the bodies of the downed goons and ran toward him.

"Uh, help here!" Kim wailed as she instantly inherited Shego's ten guards on top of her own eight.

"Sorry, Kimmie, you're on your own!"

Through all the noise and commotion, Drakken sensed Shego's approach. It made him smile. _We have a connection, _he thought with satisfaction. _I guess she really does love me_. Still he presented himself as a target. His offer to his father was genuine. He was through fighting. He just couldn't do it anymore.

"Ron, go help Kim!" Shego said as she ran to Drakken's aid.

Sir watched Shego's swift approach. "You love her, don't you?" he asked his son. "Good." He aimed his gun at Shego as she took a feet-first flying leap at him and pulled the trigger —

— "Ta-dah!" came a squeaky little voice, and the florescent lights in the warehouse stuttered back to life —

— "Way to go, Rufus!" Ron cheered as he plunged into the fray to help Kim —

— in mid-air, Shego tucked into a ball to make herself a smaller target, presuming that since she'd dodged a bullet once, she could do it again —

— and Sir's shot went wild as he shied back from the unexpected onslaught of light.

Shego uncurled with lightening speed, but changing position had changed the course of her leap. She ended up landing next to Sir instead of kicking him across the warehouse, but that worked, too—she snatched the gun out of his hand so fast he thought he still had it. He aimed his hand at her, grinning, then realized it was empty and gasped.

Shego smirked. "Nice try, moldy. I wouldn't..." She paused at a strange sound, the sound of a low growl of anger rising to a furious bellow of rage.

Drakken staggered one step forward and, infused with a black hatred that overpowered all pain, sorrow and weakness, he smashed his fist into Sir's face and sent the old man down flat on his back. Shego actually winced as Sir landed hard and groaned.

"I think you may have broken his jaw," she commented. When Drakken made no answer, she looked at him.

Her jaw dropped. Up to this point she hadn't had a chance to really _see_ him. He looked like he'd been mauled by a wild animal, what with his torn clothes, mussed hair and what looked to her like several major injuries. But it was the expression on his face that really made her pause. It was a crazed combination of wild victory, desperate release, utter shock and black hatred. Mostly hatred. His eyes seemed to radiate red beams of pure loathing at the figure on the ground. He was heaving in great gulps of air as if he'd just run a marathon. The sweat and blood, the bruises and cuts, the entire map of misfortune that marred his blue skin -- every injury seemed to flare somehow, as if every wrong done him was itself enraged.

"Dr. D, are you okay?" Obviously he wasn't, but Shego didn't know what else to say. She had to say something. He looked like he was about to explode.

He didn't acknowledge her question. He just glared at the old man lying on the floor. "You did it," he finally muttered to his father. "You actually made me give up. I...I gave up. I gave up! But...I never give up." He made an incoherent sound of dismay, a gut-deep cry that came from the soul. "You bastard, you made me give up! Well, fuck you, because I NEVER GIVE UP!"

Sir had placed his cane on the control panel while watching the fight. Now Drakken snatched it up and held it like a spear, aiming between his father's eyes. He had every intention of smashing the man's face in and Shego knew it. "Dr. D, don't!" she yelled, grabbing his arm.

"YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!" Drakken roared, wide wild eyes fixed on his target.

Shego realized that he didn't even see her anymore, so she shook his arm. "Dr. D, it's me! Stop already! It's over!"

Drakken froze, cane poised, with Shego's hands clasping his arm. He just stood that way for a moment. Shego tried to gently push his arm down and was surprised when it wouldn't budge. "Let go, Dr. D," she said softly.

His arm trembled.

"Let go. It's over."

Drakken dropped the cane and started to fall. Shego quickly put her arm around him to steady him, not surprised to feel his full weight suddenly fall on her as he became too weak to stand. "She...go..."

"It's okay, I gotcha." She started to lower him to the ground, but he spoke again.

"No...I...I'm walking...."

"You've got to be kid—"

"I'm walking out of here!" Drakken snapped, and his weight slowly lifted from Shego as he began the gradual process of straightening back up. It hurt just to watch him, but Shego let him do as he wanted, wincing at each sound of pain he made.

Only when he was standing once again on his own did Shego think to check on Kim and Ron. She needn't have bothered. She turned just in time to see Ron deck the last goon. Kim ran to him, gave him a kiss, and turned to meet Shego's gaze.

The teenagers ran over to her, careful to keep their distance from Drakken. He looked like he was in a trance, just standing over the moaning form of his father, blood dripping from the fingers of his left hand. Kim could see that his left knee was swollen, and he stood with his weight on his right leg, lightly keeping just the tip of his injured foot on the floor for balance.

"What happened to—?" Kim began.

"Kimmie, he's hurt bad," Shego whispered. "Call the nerdlinger and get an ambulance up here. And get ready to help 'cause he wants to walk out of here."

Ron took in the swaying figure. "Uh, I'm usually the optimistic one, but _no way."_

Shego grabbed Ron's shirt collar. "_Way_, buffoon. Drakken is going to walk away from this on his own two feet...with a little help. Got it?"

Ron nodded quickly, hoping Shego wouldn't blast him, as Kim said into her Kimmunicator, "Wade, I need an ambulance, like, ten minutes ago. Call Dr. Director and have her assemble both medics and agents. There are lots of hurt people here, most of them gangsters."

"What!?" Wade blurted through his Coke. "Are you—"

"Ron and I are fine, but Drakken..." She paused. "Drakken just took down the head of the Middleton Mob."

On the Kimmunicator's little screen, Wade's eyes bugged. _"What?"_

"I'll explain later. Just get help up here stat!"

"You're not at Drakken's safe house," Wade noted. "I'll use Ron's chip to locate you. Wade out."

"Wait a minute," Ron said, feeling the back of his neck. "He's _still_ got me chipped?! C'mon, that is just so unethical!"

Kim stifled a grin and pointed at Drakken. "Let's finish this, then you can argue with Wade all you want."

Shego had her head cocked. "What is that noise?" It was muffled, maybe a voice. Then it hit her. "It's Mama Lipsky! They must have gagged her."

"I'm on it," Ron volunteered. "C'mon, Rufus, you've got some ropes to chew through."

"Hokay!"

"Hey, buffoon," Shego whispered. "Keep her away, got it? She'll understand what he's trying to do here...I hope." As Ron and Rufus sprinted to Mama Lipsky, Shego gently placed her hand on Drakken's arm again, this time in a supportive way. "Are you ready, Dr. D?"

Slowly, like a rusty machine part, Drakken's head turned to her. He blinked once and nodded.

"Okay. Remember, I'm here if you need me. We're all here, so just take your time."

Kim had never seen anything like it. Drakken took a tentative step and almost collapsed. Shego caught him. He leaned heavily on her, resting, then tried another step. He could put little weight on his injured leg and was hardly able to keep his balance. But after a few tenuous, painful tries, he grit his teeth and took a full step, letting Shego take the weight his knee couldn't support. Kim caught Shego's look and moved to Drakken's other side, putting her arm around his waist and taking as much weight as she could. Slow step by slow step they headed for the warehouse door.

"Ron, open the door!" Kim called behind her, trying not to startle Drakken. Then she decided that nothing would startle him right now. His entire world was wrapped up in the simple act of walking.

As the big rolling door began to rise, Kim heard a sound that was loud enough to overpower its great metal rumbling. "Drewby!!"

Shego growled. "Not now, Mama Lipsky!" But she heard no more words from the woman, just quick steps coming closer. Shego was just about to snap at her when she saw Mama Lipsky, her pudgy face a mask of concern for her son, nod and put a finger to her lips. Ron must have explained to her what Drakken was doing. All Mama Lipsky wanted to do was walk with him.

Drakken moved at a snail's pace and had to stop and rest several times, but eventually he reached the warehouse door. "Can you step up?" Shego asked him, doubting that he could traverse the concrete rise in the doorway.

Drakken didn't speak or nod. He looked down at his feet and, with a yelp of pain that made Mama Lipsky sob, he lifted his injured leg enough to clear the rise.

"Ready, princess?" Shego said. "One, two, _three!"_ The two women took Drakken's full weight and lifted him over the rise so that he could land on his good leg outside.

Shego looked up at Drakken and saw tears coursing down his face. She blinked back a few of her own and asked, "Is this far enough, Dr. D?"

In reply, Drakken went limp. Shego and Kim gently lowered him to the ground while Mama Lipsky came forward. She knelt beside her son. "I'm so proud of you, Drewby," she said, pulling a few stray black hairs off Drakken's grimy forehead.

As the wail of an ambulence's siren grew closer, Drakken passed out, a small smile on his lips.

TBC

_One more chapter left, guys!_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: Life After Death**

_Time: 10 Days Later_

Dr. Director walked down the GJ hospital corridor, her mind in a whirl. With the capture of Sir and so many other high-profile criminals who had been working with him for years, she had her hands full. More than full—she hadn't slept in twenty-two hours. But she had one last duty to perform before she could go home and sleep.

She stopped at Room 13. The two guards stepped aside, knowing that no ID was required for this lady. Dr. Director paused at the door, hand on the knob, her mind skimming over the events of the past ten days.

She had been informed of Drakken's capture by Sir and what had transpired in the warehouse. The ambulance had taken Drakken to the GJ hospital where he underwent two operations, one for his abdominal injuries and later, one for his knee. The knee was so damaged that the operation had been performed merely to keep his leg together. Clearly he wouldn't be able to walk any better than he had before—and maybe now it would be worse. Only time would tell.

He had slipped into a brief and alarming state of psychosis when he first woke up in the hospital. Dr. Director had been reminded of his time at the GJ mental facility where he had stayed for nine months. The man had been a wreck then, too, disconnected and confused, unable to process any stimulus from the real world. She'd had doubts that he would ever regain enough faculties to function normally again. But as with his physical injuries, Drakken had slowly pulled through. His mind had clawed its way up from a deep pit to once again see daylight. And now he'd done it again, only this time, it had taken a mere two days.

Shego's presence had a lot to do with it, of course. Dr. Director had at first thought that the Drakken/Shego team was strictly business. But clearly Drakken needed the green villainess, not just for his work but for his mental stability. She was nasty, spiteful and mean, but she was as firm as a rock, and without that rock, Drakken could only flail helplessly on his own. Now that Dr. Director knew who his father was, she understood why.

What really surprised her was Shego's devotion to Drakken. Dr. Director would never have suspected in a thousand years that Shego had feelings for her evil employer. Drakken had thrown money at her every time he turned around, supposedly to keep her at his side, but now Dr. Director knew that Shego would have stayed with him regardless.

All in all, Betty Director still didn't especially like Drew Lipsky. To her, he was a despicable criminal who had terrorized the world, caused untold damage, and brought grief and anguish to almost everyone he came in contact with.

But god, he was stubborn. He simply never gave up. She'd never before seen anyone so determined to _survive._ That one fact made her respect him, in a way. And the events that had transpired over the last year—his attacks, his mental struggles, his discovery of the identity of his attacker and his response to it—it revealed a level of strength and dignity that she would never have believed he possessed. It didn't excuse his crimes, but it was astounding nonetheless. _He once challenged me to stand in his place and do the right thing, _she thought. _Now...I really don't know if I could do what he's done._

It annoyed her no end to have to admit that.

With a sigh she opened the door of Room 13 and paused to take in the sight.

Drew Theodore P. Lipsky was propped up in a hospital bed, left leg in a cast, bandages wrapped around his chest and right arm, smaller bandages scattered here and there on the rest of his body, and dark purple bruises on most of the places where his skin did show. All in all, she thought he looked better than he deserved. Shego sat by his side dressed in stylish jeans and a pullover. Mrs. Lipsky sat on the other side of the bed, holding Drakken's hand. Kim and Ron were there, too, as well as Dr. James Possible.

"I knew it!" Dr. Possible was saying to Drakken. "Some of the components and programs that came from our so-called _Off-site Staffer_ were...well, I should have known they were your work, Drew. Nobody could ever design a circuit board quite like you. And your programming—it makes no sense to me and yet the programs work!" He paused. "I would have seriously wondered if it _was_ you, but I thought...you know..." He stopped awkwardly.

Drakken grinned. He was drugged to the gills with various medications, but the grin wasn't medicinally motivated. It was genuine. "You thought I was dead," he said slowly but clearly. "It's okay, James." He grew somber. "I'm just glad that Betty decided to tell you the truth, and that you...you came by to see me. Yours was the greatest friendship I ever had, you know. I'm glad that we could mend it."

"What about _my_ friendship?" Shego asked dangerously.

Drakken batted his eyes at her. "You're not a friend, Shego. You're way past that."

"You bet your ass I am," Shego said smugly.

"You watch your language, young lady," Mama Lipsky reprimanded. "My grandchildren are not growing up in a house full of potty talk!"

"Mother!" Drakken said, his purple-bruised cheeks turning slightly pink. It was a bizarre combination of colors to see on a human face.

Kim chuckled, then turned to her father. "So Dad, you know that you can never ever EVER tell anybody that Drakken is alive, right? That might be a hard secret to keep."

"I think I'm up to it," Dr. Possible said. "And now I'll know what to expect when _Off-site Staffer_ works on a project."

"Ahem."

Everybody turned to see Dr. Director.

"Oh, it's that pretty lady who's in charge of all those nice secret agents!" said Mama Lipsky. "If I may say, you wear very impressive uniforms."

Dr. Director smiled. "Thank you." She turned her attention to Drakken. "I've spoken with...certain interested parties...and I have the final word." She saw Drakken visibly stiffen. She knew he was scared to death of what she was about to say. She opened her folder and scanned a few pages unnecessarily. She wanted him to sweat. Finally she said, "It is our recommendation that you be moved to another safe house to continue your work for GJ, the Space Center, and possibly additional government agencies. The new house will be substantially bigger than your previous one so as to make more room for equipment and work space." She noticed that Drakken hadn't relaxed yet. "As for Miss Shego..."

"Jail," Shego said morosely.

"That is one option," Dr. Director said. "The other option is that you occupy the same house as Mr. Lipsky."

Shego looked shocked. A huge grin blossomed on Drakken's face.

Mama Lipsky squealed. "I knew it! I knew it! My Drewby's getting married! Oh, I can't believe it! First I think my boy is dead, then I find out he isn't dead after all, and now he's getting married! Isn't that wonderful, everybody?"

Kim, Ron and Dr. Possible knew better than to say a word, but they all were trying not to grin.

"Whoa whoa whoa there!" Shego said, standing up. "What would I become, little miss housewifey? I don't think so!"

Drakken opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Director held up her hand. "It is our recommendation that you, Shego, be assigned the task of training GJ agents in advanced hand-to-hand defensive and offensive fighting techniques, as well as teach practical classes in stealth, surveillance and infiltration."

Shego cocked her head. "You mean you'd let me outta the house?"

"With GJ escort, and only to designated GJ training sites. After time, maybe more. You're not considered dead, Shego, therefore your movements can be more flexible. But let me remind you—one escape attempt, one single use of your powers without express GJ permission, one wrong move of any kind, and you'll find yourself in a jail cell that has been specifically designed to withstand your powers. You will spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement, you will never see Drew again and—"

"Okay okay, I got it, geez." Shego sat back down. "So I'd be able to leave but Dr. D wouldn't?"

"I have my holographic imaging device," Drakken said. "I can still use that, can't I? Except I want to redesign the image. I hate walking around knowing that people think I'm fat."

Dr. Director smiled. "I'll have to clear any new image you have in mind, Drew, but yes, the same rules will apply to your movements as before. And as before, if you step out of line just once—"

"Yeah yeah, jail, blah blah," Drakken muttered. But he was smiling.

"Oh, my Drewby's getting married!" Mama Lipsky clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, I'm so excited! I can't wait to tell everybody on the bingo bus—"

Drakken's smile faded. "Mother," he said sternly, "please don't jump to conclusions. And I'm dead, remember? You can't tell anyone anything."

Mama Lipsky deflated like a balloon. "Oh." Then, "Not even Wanda Jean? I promise that she—"

"No one, Mother. No. One. Not Wanda Jean, not even Cousin Eddie." Drakken held his mother's gaze. "This is serious, Mother. Do you promise?"

"Oh, all right."

"And you won't pull that _Oh just this once?_ little game you do?"

"...I won't." Mama Lipsky folded her arms and proceeded to pout.

"Well," Dr. Director said. "I'll go then. Drew, I'll get you pictures of the house as soon as I can." She started for the door, but Drakken stopped her.

"Before you go, Betty," he began, then paused. "I mean, Dr. Director..."

"Yes, _Drew?"_

"What about my..." He caught himself, seemed to think for a moment, then pointed to his mother. "I mean, her..." Again he stopped. "I mean, what about_...him?"_

"Charles?" Mama Lipsky made the motion of spitting on the floor. "To hell with him!" she said venomously.

Everyone looked at her in surprise, especially Drakken. "Mother, talk about potty talk!"

Mama Lipsky waggled her finger at her son. "He is the one exception, Drewby. I would think you'd understand that now."

"Charles Lipsky," cut in Dr. Director, "is still in critical care at an undisclosed medical facility. He's physically quite frail, so that mysterious fall he suffered..." She glanced at Drakken. "...injured his back, neck, and especially his _jaw."_

Drakken fidgeted. "Oh."

"I hope he's paralyzed," said Mama Lipsky, and she repeated her motion of spitting on the floor.

Drakken held up a finger, drawing Dr. Director's attention once more. "And as to the, uh, circumstances of his mysterious fall?"

"There's no evidence to indicate how the fall occurred," said Dr. Director smoothly. "And since he is, without doubt, mentally unstable—"

"Inhuman, more like," Mama Lipsky huffed.

"—any charges he might make will be highly questionable."

"Oh, look at the time! I guess we should go now!" Dr. Possible took his daughter's hand and headed a little too briskly for the door.

"Come on, Ron," Kim said, clearly amused by her dad's sudden need to leave.

"Thank you again, James!" Drakken called as they left.

"Yeah, hope we can meet again at some point!" Dr. Possible answered.

Drakken chuckled. "Poor James. He was always such a prude about eavesdropping on private conversations—even when those conversations weren't really so private!"

"Oh no, this isn't private at all," snarked Shego. "We're just talking about the rest of our lives here!"

Drakken looked at her. "So then let's talk. You _will_ stay with me, won't you?" A hint of worry crept into his voice. "I mean..._won't you?"_

Dr. Director quietly slipped out the door as Shego lifted her chin haughtily. "Was that supposed to be a proposal?"

A tiny smile of relief and joy formed on Drakken's face. "Um...right. Okay. I'll rephrase." He took her hand in his. Actually, he intended to sandwich her hand in both of his, but his mother wouldn't let go of his right hand. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, then let the annoyance go. This was no time to be annoyed.

He gazed into Shego's eyes. "Shego, my love, my sweet, will you stay with me in some yet-to-be-determined hovel where we'll enjoy very little privacy...well, hopefully enough to...you know..."

Shego snickered.

"...and teach fighting classes while I do lab stuff and not go out very often but hopefully often enough that we both don't go stir crazy? Oh, and wear two matching wedding rings?"

Shego glanced at Mama Lipsky, the only one left in the room with them. The woman was gazing at her son with eyes so filled with gushy love that she'd make a Cuddle Buddy collector look like a supervillain. _Which I won't be anymore, _she thought. She would miss it, no doubt about it. But Shego had had enough time to think it over. A whole year in fact. And that year without Drakken had shown her that she couldn't live without him. Not happily, anyway.

"Yes," she said.

Drakken feigned shock. "That's it? You get a whopping proposal like that and it's just _yes_ and you're done?"

Shego smirked at him. "Whaddaya want, fireworks?"

At that, Drakken slowly licked his lips. "Mother, could you go out and get me a Snickers bar from the machines? I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure thing, honey," said Mama Lipsky, getting up in a happy trance and practically floating to the door.

Once she was gone, Drakken turned back to Shego. "You know what I want."

Shego smiled, got up out of her chair, leaned over Drakken's bed and gave him the deepest, sexiest, most love-filled kiss a man in a hospital had ever received. They were still at it when Dr. Director opened the door. "Oh not again," she sighed.

Shego quickly sat down, wiping her mouth. "Sorry."

"Just make sure that me busting in on you two lip-locked doesn't become a habit," Dr. Director said in the most authoritative voice she could muster. What she really wanted to do was laugh her head off, but that wasn't an option. "I forgot to tell you something," she continued sternly.

Both Drakken and Shego tensed.

"Drew, I have made a decision concerning your knee."

His lips still tingling from Shego's mind-numbing kiss, Drakken just stared in confusion. "My whuh?"

"Global Justice will pay for knee replacement surgery. If successful, you should regain nearly full use of your leg again."

Drakken's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Really."

"When?"

Dr. Director paused. "Let's get you out of the hospital and settled in the new safe house first, shall we?"

"Um...okay!"

Dr. Director left. The room fell silent. Then Drakken asked, "Do you believe in happy endings?"

Shego shrugged. "Not sure. Never had one."

Drakken turned to her. "I think we're having one right now."

"And just how can we know that for sure?"

Drakken thought about it, then declared, "Because we're due."

Shego looked at her future husband for a moment, his goofy grin, his battered but healing body, his dark eyes that were so lit up with love that it made her breath hitch in her throat.

A happy ending? _Them?_

Maybe it was possible.

She leaned over and kissed him again.

THE END

Author's Note:

Thank you to everybody who stuck with this story, especially when it disappeared for so long. But I am pleased to announce (not like you don't already know) that this sucker is DONE! It was fun and amazingly therapeutic to write, and I hope everybody likes how it all wrapped up. I have appreciated all the enthusiastic reviews, so thank you for those, too. They kept me going!

I'm turning to my comedy now, which is a much shorter piece entitled "A Day in the Head of Drew Lipsky." It's almost halfway done and extremely silly. I'm having hoots writing it.

For those of you who haven't read my other D/S story "When Madness Comes," give it a read. Yay, depression!

And visit my new profile page. I FINALLY updated it, woohoo!


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